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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Seven who were Hanged, by Leonid Andreyev
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Seven who were Hanged
+
+Author: Leonid Andreyev
+
+Release Date: June 1, 2009 [EBook #6722]
+Last Updated: September 15, 2019
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SEVEN WHO WERE HANGED ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Eric Eldred, and David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+
+cover 
+
+
+
+The Seven who were Hanged
+
+      A STORY
+    
+    
+by Leonid Andreyev
+
+
+
+      Authorized Translation From The Russian By Herman Bernstein.
+    
+
+
+
+Contents
+
+
+ FOREWORD
+ INTRODUCTION
+ THE SEVEN WHO WERE HANGED
+CHAPTER I	 AT ONE O’CLOCK, YOUR EXCELLENCY!
+CHAPTER II	 CONDEMNED TO BE HANGED
+CHAPTER III	 WHY SHOULD I BE HANGED?
+CHAPTER IV	 WE COME FROM ORYOL
+CHAPTER V	 KISS—AND SAY NOTHING
+CHAPTER VI	 THE HOURS ARE RUSHING
+CHAPTER VII	 THERE IS NO DEATH
+CHAPTER VIII	 THERE IS DEATH AS WELL AS LIFE
+CHAPTER IX	 DREADFUL SOLITUDE
+CHAPTER X	 THE WALLS ARE FALLING
+CHAPTER XI	 ON THE WAY TO THE SCAFFOLD
+CHAPTER XII	 THEY ARE HANGED
+
+
+
+Andreyev
+
+
+Leonid Andreyev
+
+
+DEDICATION
+To Count Leo N. Tolstoy
+This Book is Dedicated
+by Leonid Andreyev
+
+The Translation of this Story
+Is Also Respectfully Inscribed to
+Count Leo N. Tolstoy
+by Herman Bernstein
+
+
+FOREWORD
+
+Leonid Andreyev, who was born in Oryol, in 1871, is the most popular,
+and next to Tolstoy, the most gifted writer in Russia to-day. Andreyev
+has written many important stories and dramas, the best known among
+which are “Red Laughter,” “Life of Man,” “To the Stars,” “The Life of
+Vasily Fiveisky,” “Eliazar,” “Black Masks,” and “The Story of the Seven
+Who Were Hanged.”
+
+In “Red Laughter” he depicted the horrors of war as few men had ever
+before done it. He dipped his pen into the blood of Russia and wrote
+the tragedy of the Manchurian war.
+
+In his “Life of Man” Andreyev produced a great, imaginative “morality”
+play which has been ranked by European critics with some of the
+greatest dramatic masterpieces.
+
+The story of “The Seven Who Were Hanged” is thus far his most important
+achievement. The keen psychological insight and the masterly simplicity
+with which Andreyev has penetrated and depicted each of the tragedies
+of the seven who were hanged place him in the same class as an artist
+with Russia’s greatest masters of fiction, Dostoyevsky, Turgenev and
+Tolstoy.
+
+I consider myself fortunate to be able to present to the
+English-reading public this remarkable work, which has already produced
+a profound impression in Europe and which, I believe, is destined for a
+long time to come to play an important part in opening the eyes of the
+world to the horrors perpetrated in Russia and to the violence and
+iniquity of the destruction of human life, whatever the error or the
+crime.
+
+_New York._
+
+HERMAN BERNSTEIN.
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+ [Translation of the Foregoing Letter in Russian]
+
+I am very glad that “The Story of the Seven Who Were Hanged” will be
+read in English. The misfortune of us all is that we know so little,
+even nothing, about one another—neither about the soul, nor the life,
+the sufferings, the habits, the inclinations, the aspirations of one
+another. Literature, which I have the honor to serve, is dear to me
+just because the noblest task it sets before itself is that of wiping
+out boundaries and distances.
+
+As in a hard shell, every human being is enclosed in a cover of body,
+dress, and life. Who is man? We may only conjecture. What constitutes
+his joy or his sorrow? We may guess only by his acts, which are
+oft-times enigmatic; by his laughter and by his tears, which are often
+entirely incomprehensible to us. And if we, Russians, who live so
+closely together in constant misery, understand one another so poorly
+that we mercilessly put to death those who should be pitied or even
+rewarded, and reward those who should be punished by contempt and
+anger—how much more difficult is it for you Americans, to understand
+distant Russia? But then, it is just as difficult for us Russians to
+understand distant America, of which we dream in our youth and over
+which we ponder so deeply in our years of maturity.
+
+The Jewish massacres and famine; a Parliament and executions; pillage
+and the greatest heroism; “The Black Hundred,” and Leo Tolstoy—what a
+mixture of figures and conceptions, what a fruitful source for all
+kinds of misunderstandings! The truth of life stands aghast in silence,
+and its brazen falsehood is loudly shouting, uttering pressing, painful
+questions: “With whom shall I sympathize? Whom shall I trust? Whom
+shall I love?”
+
+In the story of “The Seven Who Were Hanged” I attempted to give a
+sincere and unprejudiced answer to some of these questions.
+
+That I have treated ruling and slaughtering Russia with restraint and
+mildness may best be gathered from the fact that the Russian censor has
+permitted my book to circulate. This is sufficient evidence when we
+recall how many books, brochures and newspapers have found eternal rest
+in the peaceful shade of the police stations, where they have risen to
+the patient sky in the smoke and flame of bonfires.
+
+But I did not attempt to condemn the Government, the fame of whose
+wisdom and virtues has already spread far beyond the boundaries of our
+unfortunate fatherland. Modest and bashful far beyond all measure of
+her virtues, Russia would sincerely wish to forego this honor, but
+unfortunately the free press of America and Europe has not spared her
+modesty, and has given a sufficiently clear picture of her glorious
+activities. Perhaps I am wrong in this: it is possible that many honest
+people in America believe in the purity of the Russian Government’s
+intentions—but this question is of such importance that it requires a
+special treatment, for which it is necessary to have both time and calm
+of soul. But there is no calm soul in Russia.
+
+My task was to point out the horror and the iniquity of capital
+punishment under any circumstances. The horror of capital punishment is
+great when it falls to the lot of courageous and honest people whose
+only guilt is their excess of love and the sense of righteousness—in
+such instances, conscience revolts. But the rope is still more horrible
+when it forms the noose around the necks of weak and ignorant people.
+And however strange it may appear, I look with a lesser grief and
+suffering upon the execution of the revolutionists, such as Werner and
+Musya, than upon the strangling of ignorant murderers, miserable in
+mind and heart, like Yanson and Tsiganok. Even the last mad horror of
+inevitably approaching execution Werner can offset by his enlightened
+mind and his iron will, and Musya, by her purity and her innocence. ***
+
+But how are the weak and the sinful to face it if not in madness, with
+the most violent shock to the very foundation of their souls? And these
+people, now that the Government has steadied its hands through its
+experience with the revolutionists, are being hanged throughout
+Russia—in some places one at a time, in others, ten at once. Children
+at play come upon badly buried bodies, and the crowds which gather look
+with horror upon the peasants’ boots that are sticking out of the
+ground; prosecutors who have witnessed these executions are becoming
+insane and are taken away to hospitals—while the people are being
+hanged—being hanged.
+
+I am deeply grateful to you for the task you have undertaken in
+translating this sad story. Knowing the sensitiveness of the American
+people, who at one time sent across the ocean, steamers full of bread
+for famine-stricken Russia, I am convinced that in this case our people
+in their misery and bitterness will also find understanding and
+sympathy. And if my truthful story about seven of the thousands who
+were hanged will help toward destroying at least one of the barriers
+which separate one nation from another, one human being from another,
+one soul from another soul, I shall consider myself happy.
+
+Respectfully yours,
+LEONID ANDREYEV.
+
+
+
+
+THE SEVEN WHO WERE HANGED
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I AT ONE O’CLOCK, YOUR EXCELLENCY!
+
+As the Minister was a very stout man, inclined to apoplexy, they feared
+to arouse in him any dangerous excitement, and it was with every
+possible precaution that they informed him that a very serious attempt
+upon his life had been planned. When they saw that he received the news
+calmly, even with a smile, they gave him, also, the details. The
+attempt was to be made on the following day at the time that he was to
+start out with his official report; several men, terrorists, whose
+plans had already been betrayed by a _provocateur_, and who were now
+under the vigilant surveillance of detectives, were to meet at one
+o’clock in the afternoon in front of his house, and, armed with bombs
+and revolvers, were to wait till he came out. There the terrorists were
+to be trapped.
+
+“Wait!” muttered the Minister, perplexed. “How did they know that I was
+to leave the house at one o’clock in the afternoon with my report, when
+I myself learned of it only the day before yesterday?”
+
+The Chief of the Guards stretched out his arms with a shrug.
+
+“Exactly at one o’clock in the afternoon, your Excellency,” he said.
+
+Half surprised, half commending the work of the police, who had managed
+everything skilfully, the Minister shook his head, a morose smile upon
+his thick, dark lips, and still smiling obediently, and not desiring to
+interfere with the plans of the police, he hastily made ready, and went
+out to pass the night in some one else’s hospitable palace. His wife
+and his two children were also removed from the dangerous house, before
+which the bomb-throwers were to gather upon the following day.
+
+While the lights were burning in the palace, and courteous, familiar
+faces were bowing to him, smiling and expressing their concern, the
+dignitary experienced a sensation of pleasant excitement—he felt as if
+he had already received, or was soon to receive, some great and
+unexpected reward. But the people went away, the lights were
+extinguished, and through the mirrors, the lace-like and fantastic
+reflection of the electric lamps on the street, quivered across the
+ceiling and over the walls. A stranger in the house, with its
+paintings, its statues and its silence, the light—itself silent and
+indefinite—awakened painful thoughts in him as to the vanity of bolts
+and guards and walls. And then, in the dead of night, in the silence
+and solitude of a strange bedroom, a sensation of unbearable fear swept
+over the dignitary.
+
+He had some kidney trouble, and whenever he grew strongly agitated, his
+face, his hands and his feet became swollen. Now, rising like a
+mountain of bloated flesh above the taut springs of the bed, he felt,
+with the anguish of a sick man, his swollen face, which seemed to him
+to belong to some one else. Unceasingly he kept thinking of the cruel
+fate which people were preparing for him. He recalled, one after
+another, all the recent horrible instances of bombs that had been
+thrown at men of even greater eminence than himself; he recalled how
+the bombs had torn bodies to pieces, had spattered brains over dirty
+brick walls, had knocked teeth from their roots. And influenced by
+these meditations, it seemed to him that his own stout, sickly body,
+outspread on the bed, was already experiencing the fiery shock of the
+explosion. He seemed to be able to feel his arms being severed from the
+shoulders, his teeth knocked out, his brains scattered into particles,
+his feet growing numb, lying quietly, their toes upward, like those of
+a dead man. He stirred with an effort, breathed loudly and coughed in
+order not to seem to himself to resemble a corpse in any way. He
+encouraged himself with the live noise of the grating springs, of the
+rustling blanket; and to assure himself that he was actually alive and
+not dead, he uttered in a bass voice, loudly and abruptly, in the
+silence and solitude of the bedroom:
+
+“_Molodtsi! Molodtsi! Molodtsi!_ (Good boys)!”
+
+He was praising the detectives, the police, and the soldiers—all those
+who guarded his life, and who so opportunely and so cleverly had
+averted the assassination. But even though he stirred, even though he
+praised his protectors, even though he forced an unnatural smile, in
+order to express his contempt for the foolish, unsuccessful terrorists,
+he nevertheless did not believe in his safety, he was not sure that his
+life would not leave him suddenly, at once. Death, which people had
+devised for him, and which was only in their minds, in their intention,
+seemed to him to be already standing there in the room. It seemed to
+him that Death would remain standing there, and would not go away until
+those people had been captured, until the bombs had been taken from
+them, until they had been placed in a strong prison. There Death was
+standing in the corner, and would not go away—it could not go away,
+even as an obedient sentinel stationed on guard by a superior’s will
+and order.
+
+“At one o’clock in the afternoon, your Excellency!” this phrase kept
+ringing, changing its tone continually: now it was cheerfully mocking,
+now angry, now dull and obstinate. It sounded as if a hundred wound-up
+gramophones had been placed in his room, and all of them, one after
+another, were shouting with idiotic repetition the words they had been
+made to shout:
+
+“At one o’clock in the afternoon, your Excellency!”
+
+And suddenly, this one o’clock in the afternoon to-morrow, which but a
+short while ago was not in any way different from other hours, which
+was only a quiet movement of the hand along the dial of his gold watch,
+assumed an ominous finality, sprang out of the dial, began to live
+separately, stretched itself into an enormously huge black pole which
+cut all life in two. It seemed as if no other hours had existed before
+it and no other hours would exist after it—as if this hour alone,
+insolent and presumptuous, had a right to a certain peculiar existence.
+
+“Well, what do you want?” asked the Minister angrily, muttering between
+his teeth.
+
+The gramophone shouted:
+
+“At one o’clock in the afternoon, your Excellency!” and the black pole
+smiled and bowed. Gnashing his teeth, the Minister rose in his bed to a
+sitting posture, leaning his face on the palms of his hands—he
+positively could not sleep on that dreadful night.
+
+Clasping his face in his swollen, perfumed palms, he pictured to
+himself with horrifying clearness how on the following morning, not
+knowing anything of the plot against his life, he would have risen,
+would have drunk his coffee, not knowing anything, and then would have
+put on his coat in the hallway. And neither he, nor the doorkeeper who
+would have handed him his fur coat, nor the lackey who would have
+brought him the coffee, would have known that it was utterly useless to
+drink coffee, and to put on the coat, since a few instants later,
+everything—the fur coat and his body and the coffee within it—would be
+destroyed by an explosion, would be seized by death. The doorkeeper
+would have opened the glass door.... He, the amiable, kind, gentle
+doorkeeper, with the blue, typical eyes of a soldier, and with medals
+across his breast—he himself with his own hands would have opened the
+terrible door, opened it because he knew nothing. Everybody would have
+smiled because they did not know anything.
+
+“Oho!” he suddenly said aloud, and slowly removed his hands from his
+face. Peering into the darkness, far ahead of him, with a fixed,
+strained look, he outstretched his hand just as slowly, felt the button
+on the wall and pressed it. Then he arose, and without putting on his
+slippers, walked in his bare feet over the rug in the strange,
+unfamiliar bedroom, found the button of another lamp upon the wall and
+pressed it. It became light and pleasant, and only the disarranged bed
+with the blanket, which had slipped off to the floor, spoke of the
+horror, not altogether past.
+
+In his night-clothes, with his beard disheveled by his restless
+movements, with his angry eyes, the dignitary resembled any other angry
+old man who suffered with insomnia and shortness of breath. It was as
+if the death which people were preparing for him, had made him bare,
+had torn away from him the magnificence and splendor which had
+surrounded him—and it was hard to believe that it was he who had so
+much power, that his body was but an ordinary plain human body that
+must have perished terribly in the flame and roar of a monstrous
+explosion. Without dressing himself and not feeling the cold, he sat
+down in the first armchair he found, stroking his disheveled beard, and
+fixed his eyes in deep, calm thoughtfulness upon the unfamiliar plaster
+figures of the ceiling.
+
+So that was the trouble! That was why he had trembled in fear and had
+become so agitated! That was why Death seemed to stand in the corner
+and would not go away, could not go away!
+
+“Fools!” he said emphatically, with contempt.
+
+“Fools!” he repeated more loudly, and turned his head slightly toward
+the door that those to whom he was referring might hear it. He was
+referring to those whom he had praised but a moment before, who in the
+excess of their zeal had told him of the plot against his life.
+
+“Of course,” he thought deeply, an easy, convincing idea arising in his
+mind. “Now that they have told me, I know, and feel terrified, but if I
+had not been told, I would not have known anything and would have drunk
+my coffee calmly. After that Death would have come—but then, am I so
+afraid of Death? Here have I been suffering with kidney trouble, and I
+must surely die from it some day, and yet I am not afraid—because I do
+not know anything. And those fools told me: ‘At one o’clock in the
+afternoon, your Excellency!’ and they thought I would be glad. But
+instead of that Death stationed itself in the corner and would not go
+away. It would not go away because it was my thought. It is not death
+that is terrible, but the knowledge of it: it would be utterly
+impossible to live if a man could know exactly and definitely the day
+and hour of his death. And the fools cautioned me: ‘At one o’clock in
+the afternoon, your Excellency!’”
+
+He began to feel light-hearted and cheerful, as if some one had told
+him that he was immortal, that he would never die. And, feeling himself
+again strong and wise amidst the herd of fools who had so stupidly and
+impudently broken into the mystery of the future, he began to think of
+the bliss of ignorance, and his thoughts were the painful thoughts of
+an old, sick man who had gone through endless experience. It was not
+given to any living being—man or beast—to know the day and hour of
+death. Here had he been ill not long ago and the physicians told him
+that he must expect the end, that he should make his final
+arrangements—but he had not believed them and he remained alive. In his
+youth he had become entangled in an affair and had resolved to end his
+life; he had even loaded the revolver, had written his letters, and had
+fixed upon the hour for suicide—but before the very end he had suddenly
+changed his mind. It would always be thus—at the very last moment
+something would change, an unexpected accident would befall—no one
+could tell when he would die.
+
+“At one o’clock in the afternoon, your Excellency!” those kind asses
+had said to him, and although they had told him of it only that death
+might be averted, the mere knowledge of its possibility at a certain
+hour again filled him with horror. It was probable that some day he
+should be assassinated, but it would not happen to-morrow—it would not
+happen to-morrow—and he could sleep undisturbed, as if he were really
+immortal. Fools—they did not know what a great law they had dislodged,
+what an abyss they had opened, when they said in their idiotic
+kindness: “At one o’clock in the afternoon, your Excellency!”
+
+“No, not at one o’clock in the afternoon, your Excellency, but no one
+knows when. No one knows when! What?”
+
+“Nothing,” answered Silence, “nothing.”
+
+“But you did say something.”
+
+“Nothing, nonsense. I say: to-morrow, at one o’clock in the afternoon!”
+
+There was a sudden, acute pain in his heart—and he understood that he
+would have neither sleep, nor peace, nor joy until that accursed black
+hour standing out of the dial should have passed. Only the shadow of
+the knowledge of something which no living being could know stood there
+in the corner, and that was enough to darken the world and envelop him
+with the impenetrable gloom of horror. The once disturbed fear of death
+diffused through his body, penetrated into his bones.
+
+He no longer feared the murderers of the next day—they had vanished,
+they had been forgotten, they had mingled with the crowd of hostile
+faces and incidents which surrounded his life. He now feared something
+sudden and inevitable—an apoplectic stroke, heart failure, some foolish
+thin little vessel which might suddenly fail to withstand the pressure
+of the blood and might burst like a tight glove upon swollen fingers.
+
+His short, thick neck seemed terrible to him. It became unbearable for
+him to look upon his short, swollen fingers—to feel how short they were
+and how they were filled with the moisture of death. And if before,
+when it was dark, he had had to stir in order not to resemble a corpse,
+now in the bright, cold, inimical, dreadful light he was so filled with
+horror that he could not move in order to get a cigarette or to ring
+for some one. His nerves were giving way. Each one of them seemed as if
+it were a bent wire, at the top of which there was a small head with
+mad, wide-open frightened eyes and a convulsively gaping, speechless
+mouth. He could not draw his breath.
+
+Suddenly in the darkness, amidst the dust and cobwebs somewhere upon
+the ceiling, an electric bell came to life. The small, metallic tongue,
+agitatedly, in terror, kept striking the edge of the ringing cap,
+became silent—and again quivered in an unceasing, frightened din. His
+Excellency was ringing his bell in his own room.
+
+People began to run. Here and there, in the shadows upon the walls,
+lamps flared up—there were not enough of them to give light, but there
+were enough to cast shadows. The shadows appeared everywhere; they rose
+in the corners, they stretched across the ceiling; tremulously clinging
+to each and every elevation, they covered the walls. And it was hard to
+understand where all these innumerable, deformed silent
+shadows—voiceless souls of voiceless objects—had been before.
+
+A deep, trembling voice said something loudly. Then the doctor was
+hastily summoned by telephone; the dignitary was collapsing. The wife
+of his Excellency was also called.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II CONDEMNED TO BE HANGED
+
+Everything befell as the police had foretold. Four terrorists, three
+men and a woman, armed with bombs, infernal machines and revolvers,
+were seized at the very entrance of the house, and another woman was
+later found and arrested in the house where the conspiracy had been
+hatched. She was its mistress. At the same time a great deal of
+dynamite and half finished bomb explosives were seized. All those
+arrested were very young; the eldest of the men was twenty-eight years
+old, the younger of the women was only nineteen. They were tried in the
+same fortress in which they were imprisoned after the arrest; they were
+tried swiftly and secretly, as was done during that unmerciful time.
+
+At the trial all of them were calm, but very serious and thoughtful.
+Their contempt for the judges was so intense that none of them wished
+to emphasize his daring by even a superfluous smile or by a feigned
+expression of cheerfulness. Each was simply as calm as was necessary to
+hedge in his soul, from curious, evil and inimical eyes, the great
+gloom that precedes death.
+
+Sometimes they refused to answer questions; sometimes they answered,
+briefly, simply and precisely, as though they were answering not the
+judge, but statisticians, for the purpose of supplying information for
+particular special tables. Three of them, one woman and two men, gave
+their real names, while two others refused and thus remained unknown to
+the judges.
+
+They manifested for all that was going on at the trial a certain
+curiosity, softened, as though through a haze, such as is peculiar to
+persons who are very ill or are carried away by some great,
+all-absorbing idea. They glanced up occasionally, caught some word in
+the air more interesting than the others, and then resumed the thought
+from which their attention had been distracted.
+
+The man who was nearest to the judges called himself Sergey Golovin,
+the son of a retired colonel, himself an ex-officer. He was still a
+very young, light-haired, broad-shouldered man, so strong that neither
+the prison nor the expectation of inevitable death could remove the
+color from his cheeks and the expression of youthful, happy frankness
+from his blue eyes. He kept energetically tugging at his bushy, small
+beard, to which he had not become accustomed, and continually blinking,
+kept looking out of the window.
+
+It was toward the end of winter, when amidst the snowstorms and the
+gloomy, frosty days, the approaching spring sent as a forerunner a
+clear, warm, sunny day, or but an hour, yet so full of spring, so
+eagerly young and beaming that sparrows on the streets lost their wits
+for joy, and people seemed almost as intoxicated. And now the strange
+and beautiful sky could be seen through an upper window which was
+dust-covered and unwashed since the last summer. At first sight the sky
+seemed to be milky-gray—smoke-colored—but when you looked longer the
+dark blue color began to penetrate through the shade, grew into an ever
+deeper blue—ever brighter, ever more intense. And the fact that it did
+not reveal itself all at once, but hid itself chastely in the smoke of
+transparent clouds, made it as charming as the girl you love. And
+Sergey Golovin looked at the sky, tugged at his beard, blinked now one
+eye, now the other, with its long, curved lashes, earnestly pondering
+over something. Once he began to move his fingers rapidly and
+thoughtlessly, knitted his brow in some joy, but then he glanced about
+and his joy died out like a spark which is stepped upon. Almost
+instantly an earthen, deathly blue, without first changing into pallor,
+showed through the color of his cheeks. He clutched his downy hair,
+tore their roots painfully with his fingers, whose tips had turned
+white. But the joy of life and spring was stronger, and a few minutes
+later his frank young face was again yearning toward the spring sky.
+
+The young, pale girl, known only by the name of Musya, was also looking
+in the same direction, at the sky. She was younger than Golovin, but
+she seemed older in her gravity and in the darkness of her open, proud
+eyes. Only her very thin, slender neck, and her delicate girlish hands
+spoke of her youth; but in addition there was that ineffable something,
+which is youth itself, and which sounded so distinctly in her clear,
+melodious voice, tuned irreproachably like a precious instrument, every
+simple word, every exclamation giving evidence of its musical timbre.
+She was very pale, but it was not a deathly pallor, but that peculiar
+warm whiteness of a person within whom, as it were, a great, strong
+fire is burning, whose body glows transparently like fine Sèvres
+porcelain. She sat almost motionless, and only at times she touched
+with an imperceptible movement of her fingers the circular mark on the
+middle finger of her right hand, the mark of a ring which had been
+recently removed.
+
+She gazed at the sky without caressing kindness or joyous
+recollections—she looked at it simply because in all the filthy,
+official hall the blue bit of sky was the most beautiful, the purest,
+the most truthful object, and the only one that did not try to search
+hidden depths in her eyes.
+
+The judges pitied Sergey Golovin; her they despised.
+
+Her neighbor, known only by the name of Werner, sat also motionless, in
+a somewhat affected pose, his hands folded between his knees. If a face
+may be said to look like a false door, this unknown man closed his face
+like an iron door and bolted it with an iron lock. He stared
+motionlessly at the dirty wooden floor, and it was impossible to tell
+whether he was calm or whether he was intensely agitated, whether he
+was thinking of something, or whether he was listening to the testimony
+of the detectives as presented to the court. He was not tall in
+stature. His features were refined and delicate. Tender and handsome,
+so that he reminded you of a moonlit night in the South near the
+seashore, where the cypress trees throw their dark shadows, he at the
+same time gave the impression of tremendous, calm power, of invincible
+firmness, of cold and audacious courage. The very politeness with which
+he gave brief and precise answers seemed dangerous, on his lips, in his
+half bow. And if the prison garb looked upon the others like the
+ridiculous costume of a buffoon, upon him it was not noticeable, so
+foreign was it to his personality. And although the other terrorists
+had been seized with bombs and infernal machines upon them, and Werner
+had had but a black revolver, the judges for some reason regarded him
+as the leader of the others and treated him with a certain deference,
+although succinctly and in a business-like manner.
+
+The next man, Vasily Kashirin, was torn between a terrible, dominating
+fear of death and a desperate desire to restrain the fear and not
+betray it to the judges. From early morning, from the time they had
+been led into court, he had been suffocating from an intolerable
+palpitation of his heart. Perspiration came out in drops all along his
+forehead; his hands were also perspiring and cold, and his cold,
+sweat-covered shirt clung to his body, interfering with the freedom of
+his movements. With a supernatural effort of will-power he forced his
+fingers not to tremble, his voice to be firm and distinct, his eyes to
+be calm. He saw nothing about him; the voices came to him as through a
+mist, and it was to this mist that he made his desperate efforts to
+answer firmly, to answer loudly. But having answered, he immediately
+forgot question as well as answer, and was again struggling with
+himself silently and terribly. Death was disclosed in him so clearly
+that the judges avoided looking at him. It was hard to define his age,
+as is the case with a corpse which has begun to decompose. According to
+his passport, he was only twenty-three years old. Once or twice Werner
+quietly touched his knee with his hand, and each time Kashirin spoke
+shortly:
+
+“Never mind!”
+
+The most terrible sensation was when he was suddenly seized with an
+insufferable desire to cry out, without words, the desperate cry of a
+beast. He touched Werner quickly, and Werner, without lifting his eyes,
+said softly:
+
+“Never mind, Vasya. It will soon be over.”
+
+And embracing them all with a motherly, anxious look, the fifth
+terrorist, Tanya Kovalchuk, was faint with alarm. She had never had any
+children; she was still young and red-cheeked, just as Sergey Golovin,
+but she seemed as a mother to all of them: so full of anxiety, of
+boundless love were her looks, her smiles, her sighs. She paid not the
+slightest attention to the trial, regarding it as though it were
+something entirely irrelevant, and she listened only to the manner in
+which the others were answering the questions, to hear whether the
+voice was trembling, whether there was fear, whether it was necessary
+to give water to any one.
+
+She could not look at Vasya in her anguish and only wrung her fingers
+silently. At Musya and Werner she gazed proudly and respectfully, and
+she assumed a serious and concentrated expression, and then tried to
+transfer her smile to Sergey Golovin.
+
+“The dear boy is looking at the sky. Look, look, my darling!” she
+thought about Golovin.
+
+“And Vasya! What is it? My God, my God! What am I to do with him? If I
+should speak to him I might make it still worse. He might suddenly
+start to cry.”
+
+So like a calm pond at dawn, reflecting every hastening, passing cloud,
+she reflected upon her full, gentle, kind face every swift sensation,
+every thought of the other four. She did not give a single thought to
+the fact that she, too, was upon trial, that she, too, would be hanged;
+she was entirely indifferent to it. It was in her house that the bombs
+and the dynamite had been discovered, and, strange though it may seem,
+it was she who had met the police with pistol-shots and had wounded one
+of the detectives in the head.
+
+The trial ended at about eight o’clock, when it had become dark. Before
+Musya’s and Golovin’s eyes the sky, which had been turning ever bluer,
+was gradually losing its tint, but it did not turn rosy, did not smile
+softly as in summer evenings, but became muddy, gray, and suddenly grew
+cold, wintry. Golovin heaved a sigh, stretched himself, glanced again
+twice at the window, but the cold darkness of the night alone was
+there; then continuing to tug at his short beard, he began to examine
+with childish curiosity the judges, the soldiers with their muskets,
+and he smiled at Tanya Kovalchuk. When the sky had darkened Musya
+calmly, without lowering her eyes to the ground, turned them to the
+corner where a small cobweb was quivering from the imperceptible
+radiations of the steam heat, and thus she remained until the sentence
+was pronounced.
+
+After the verdict, having bidden good-by to their frock-coated lawyers,
+and evading each other’s helplessly confused, pitying and guilty eyes,
+the convicted terrorists crowded in the doorway for a moment and
+exchanged brief words.
+
+“Never mind, Vasya. Everything will be over soon,” said Werner.
+
+“I am all right, brother,” Kashirin replied loudly, calmly and even
+somewhat cheerfully. And indeed, his face had turned slightly rosy, and
+no longer looked like that of a decomposing corpse.
+
+“The devil take them; they’ve hanged us,” Golovin cursed quaintly.
+
+“That was to be expected,” replied Werner calmly.
+
+“To-morrow the sentence will be pronounced in its final form and we
+shall all be placed together,” said Tanya Kovalchuk consolingly. “Until
+the execution we shall all be together.”
+
+Musya was silent. Then she resolutely moved forward.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III WHY SHOULD I BE HANGED?
+
+Two weeks before the terrorists had been tried the same military
+district court, with a different set of judges, had tried and condemned
+to death by hanging Ivan Yanson, a peasant.
+
+Ivan Yanson was a workman for a well-to-do farmer, in no way different
+from other workmen. He was an Esthonian by birth, from Vezenberg, and
+in the course of several years, passing from one farm to another, he
+had come close to the capital. He spoke Russian very poorly, and as his
+master was a Russian, by name Lazarev, and as there were no Esthonians
+in the neighborhood, Yanson had practically remained silent for almost
+two years. In general, he was apparently not inclined to talk, and was
+silent not only with human beings, but even with animals. He would
+water the horse in silence, harness it in silence, moving about it,
+slowly and lazily, with short, irresolute steps, and when the horse,
+annoyed by his manner, would begin to frolic, to become capricious, he
+would beat it in silence with a heavy whip. He would beat it cruelly,
+with stolid, angry persistency, and when this happened at a time when
+he was suffering from the aftereffects of a carouse, he would work
+himself into a frenzy. At such times the crack of the whip could be
+heard in the house, with the frightened, painful pounding of the
+horse’s hoofs upon the board floor of the barn. For beating the horse
+his master would beat Yanson, but then, finding that he could not be
+reformed, paid no more attention to him.
+
+Once or twice a month Yanson became intoxicated, usually on those days
+when he took his master to the large railroad station, where there was
+a refreshment bar. After leaving his master at the station, he would
+drive off about half a verst away, and there, stalling the sled and the
+horse in the snow on the side of the road, he would wait until the
+train had gone. The sled would stand sideways, almost overturned, the
+horse standing with widely spread legs up to his belly in a snow-bank,
+from time to time lowering his head to lick the soft, downy snow, while
+Yanson would recline in an awkward position in the sled as if dozing
+away. The unfastened ear-lappets of his worn fur cap would hang down
+like the ears of a setter, and the moist sweat would stand under his
+little reddish nose.
+
+Soon he would return to the station, and would quickly become
+intoxicated.
+
+On his way back to the farm, the whole ten versts, he would drive at a
+fast gallop. The little horse, driven to madness by the whip, would
+rear, as if possessed by a demon; the sled would sway, almost overturn,
+striking against poles, and Yanson, letting the reins go, would half
+sing, half exclaim abrupt, meaningless phrases in Esthonian. But more
+often he would not sing, but with his teeth gritted together in an
+onrush of unspeakable rage, suffering and delight, he would drive
+silently on as though blind. He would not notice those who passed him,
+he would not call to them to look out, he would not slacken his mad
+pace, either at the turns of the road or on the long slopes of the
+mountain roads. How it happened at such times that he crushed no one,
+how he himself was never dashed to death in one of these mad rides, was
+inexplicable.
+
+He would have been driven from this place, as he had been driven from
+other places, but he was cheap and other workmen were not better, and
+thus he remained there two years. His life was uneventful. One day he
+received a letter, written in Esthonian, but as he himself was
+illiterate, and as the others did not understand Esthonian, the letter
+remained unread; and as if not understanding that the letter might
+bring him tidings from his native home, he flung it into the manure
+with a certain savage, grim indifference. At one time Yanson tried to
+make love to the cook, but he was not successful, and was rudely
+rejected and ridiculed. He was short in stature, his face was freckled,
+and his small, sleepy eyes were somewhat of an indefinite color. Yanson
+took his failure indifferently, and never again bothered the cook.
+
+But while Yanson spoke but little, he was listening to something all
+the time. He heard the sounds of the dismal, snow-covered fields, with
+their heaps of frozen manure resembling rows of small, snow-covered
+graves, the sounds of the blue, tender distance, of the buzzing
+telegraph wires, and the conversation of other people. What the fields
+and telegraph wires spoke to him he alone knew, and the conversation of
+the people were disquieting, full of rumors about murders and robberies
+and arson. And one night he heard in the neighboring village the little
+church bell ringing faintly and helplessly, and the crackling of the
+flames of a fire. Some vagabonds had plundered a rich farm, had killed
+the master and his wife, and had set fire to the house.
+
+And on their farm, too, they lived in fear; the dogs were loose, not
+only at night, but also during the day, and the master slept with a gun
+by his side. He wished to give such a gun to Yanson, only it was an old
+one with one barrel. But Yanson turned the gun about in his hand, shook
+his head and declined it. His master did not understand the reason and
+scolded him, but the reason was that Yanson had more faith in the power
+of his Finnish knife than in the rusty gun.
+
+“It would kill me,” he said, looking at his master sleepily with his
+glassy eyes, and the master waved his hand in despair.
+
+“You fool! Think of having to live with such workmen!”
+
+And this same Ivan Yanson, who distrusted a gun, one winter evening,
+when the other workmen had been sent away to the station, committed a
+very complicated attempt at robbery, murder and rape. He did it in a
+surprisingly simple manner. He locked the cook in the kitchen, lazily,
+with the air of a man who is longing to sleep, walked over to his
+master from behind and swiftly stabbed him several times in the back
+with his knife. The master fell unconscious, and the mistress began to
+run about, screaming, while Yanson, showing his teeth and brandishing
+his knife, began to ransack the trunks and the chests of drawers. He
+found the money he sought, and then, as if noticing the mistress for
+the first time, and as though unexpectedly even to himself, he rushed
+upon her in order to violate her. But as he had let his knife drop to
+the floor, the mistress proved stronger than he, and not only did not
+allow him to harm her, but almost choked him into unconsciousness. Then
+the master on the floor turned, the cook thundered upon the door with
+the oven-fork, breaking it open, and Yanson ran away into the fields.
+He was caught an hour later, kneeling down behind the corner of the
+barn, striking one match after another, which would not ignite, in an
+attempt to set the place on fire.
+
+A few days later the master died of blood poisoning, and Yanson, when
+his turn among other robbers and murderers came, was tried and
+condemned to death. In court he was the same as always; a little man,
+freckled, with sleepy, glassy eyes. It seemed as if he did not
+understand in the least the meaning of what was going on about him; he
+appeared to be entirely indifferent. He blinked his white eyelashes,
+stupidly, without curiosity; examined the sombre, unfamiliar courtroom,
+and picked his nose with his hard, shriveled, unbending finger. Only
+those who had seen him on Sundays at church would have known that he
+had made an attempt to adorn himself. He wore on his neck a knitted,
+muddy-red shawl, and in places had dampened the hair of his head. Where
+the hair was wet it lay dark and smooth, while on the other side it
+stuck up in light and sparse tufts, like straws upon a hail-beaten,
+wasted meadow.
+
+When the sentence was pronounced—death by hanging—Yanson suddenly
+became agitated. He reddened deeply and began to tie and untie the
+shawl about his neck as though it were choking him. Then he waved his
+arms stupidly and said, turning to the judge who had not read the
+sentence, and pointing with his finger at the judge who read it:
+
+“He said that I should be hanged.”
+
+“Who do you mean?” asked the presiding judge, who had pronounced the
+sentence in a deep, bass voice. Every one smiled; some tried to hide
+their smiles behind their mustaches and their papers. Yanson pointed
+his index finger at the presiding judge and answered angrily, looking
+at him askance:
+
+“You!”
+
+“Well?”
+
+Yanson again turned his eyes to the judge who had been silent,
+restraining a smile, whom he felt to be a friend, a man who had nothing
+to do with the sentence, and repeated:
+
+“He said I should be hanged. Why must I be hanged?”
+
+“Take the prisoner away.”
+
+But Yanson succeeded in repeating once more, convincingly and
+weightily:
+
+“Why must I be hanged?”
+
+He looked so absurd, with his small, angry face, with his outstretched
+finger, that even the soldier of the convoy, breaking the rule, said to
+him in an undertone as he led him away from the courtroom:
+
+“You are a fool, young man!”
+
+“Why must I be hanged?” repeated Yanson stubbornly.
+
+“They’ll swing you up so quickly that you’ll have no time to kick.”
+
+“Keep still!” cried the other convoy angrily. But he himself could not
+refrain from adding:
+
+“A robber, too! Why did you take a human life, you fool? You must hang
+for that!”
+
+“They might pardon him,” said the first soldier, who began to feel
+sorry for Yanson.
+
+“Oh, yes! They’ll pardon people like him, will they? Well, we’ve talked
+enough.”
+
+But Yanson had become silent again.
+
+He was again placed in the cell in which he had already sat for a month
+and to which he had grown accustomed, just as he had become accustomed
+to everything: to blows, to vodka, to the dismal, snow-covered fields,
+with their snow-heaps resembling graves. And now he even began to feel
+cheerful when he saw his bed, the familiar window with the grating, and
+when he was given something to eat—he had not eaten anything since
+morning. He had an unpleasant recollection of what had taken place in
+the court, but of that he could not think—he was unable to recall it.
+And death by hanging he could not picture to himself at all.
+
+Although Yanson had been condemned to death, there were many others
+similarly sentenced, and he was not regarded as an important criminal.
+They spoke to him accordingly, with neither fear nor respect, just as
+they would speak to prisoners who were not to be executed. The warden,
+on learning of the verdict, said to him:
+
+“Well, my friend, they’ve hanged you!”
+
+“When are they going to hang me?” asked Yanson distrustfully. The
+warden meditated a moment.
+
+“Well, you’ll have to wait—until they can get together a whole party.
+It isn’t worth bothering for one man, especially for a man like you. It
+is necessary to work up the right spirit.”
+
+“And when will that be?” persisted Yanson. He was not at all offended
+that it was not worth while to hang him alone. He did not believe it,
+but considered it as an excuse for postponing the execution,
+preparatory to revoking it altogether. And he was seized with joy; the
+confused, terrible moment, of which it was so painful to think,
+retreated far into the distance, becoming fictitious and improbable, as
+death always seems.
+
+“When? When?” cried the warden, a dull, morose old man, growing angry.
+“It isn’t like hanging a dog, which you take behind the barn—and it is
+done in no time. I suppose you would like to be hanged like that, you
+fool!”
+
+“I don’t want to be hanged,” and suddenly Yanson frowned strangely. “He
+said that I should be hanged, but I don’t want it.”
+
+And perhaps for the first time in his life he laughed, a hoarse,
+absurd, yet gay and joyous laughter. It sounded like the cackling of a
+goose, Ga-ga-ga! The warden looked at him in astonishment, then knit
+his brow sternly. This strange gayety of a man who was to be executed
+was an offence to the prison, as well as to the very executioner; it
+made them appear absurd. And suddenly, for the briefest instant, it
+appeared to the old warden, who had passed all his life in the prison,
+and who looked upon its laws as the laws of nature, that the prison and
+all the life within it was something like an insane asylum, in which
+he, the warden, was the chief lunatic.
+
+“Pshaw! The devil take you!” and he spat aside. “Why are you giggling
+here? This is no dramshop!”
+
+“And I don’t want to be hanged—ga-ga-ga!” laughed Yanson.
+
+“Satan!” muttered the inspector, feeling the need of making the sign of
+the cross.
+
+This little man, with his small, wizened face—he resembled least of all
+the devil—but there was that in his silly giggling which destroyed the
+sanctity and the strength of the prison. If he laughed longer, it
+seemed to the warden as if the walls might fall asunder, the grating
+melt and drop out, as if the warden himself might lead the prisoners to
+the gates, bowing and saying: “Take a walk in the city, gentlemen; or
+perhaps some of you would like to go to the village?”
+
+“Satan!”
+
+But Yanson had stopped laughing, and was now winking cunningly.
+
+“You had better look out!” said the warden, with an indefinite threat,
+and he walked away, glancing back of him.
+
+Yanson was calm and cheerful throughout the evening. He repeated to
+himself, “I shall not be hanged,” and it seemed to him so convincing,
+so wise, so irrefutable, that it was unnecessary to feel uneasy. He had
+long forgotten about his crime, only sometimes he regretted that he had
+not been successful in attacking his master’s wife. But he soon forgot
+that, too.
+
+Every morning Yanson asked when he was to be hanged, and every morning
+the warden answered him angrily:
+
+“Take your time, you devil! Wait!” and he would walk off quickly before
+Yanson could begin to laugh.
+
+And from these monotonously repeated words, and from the fact that each
+day came, passed and ended as every ordinary day had passed, Yanson
+became convinced that there would be no execution. He began to lose all
+memory of the trial, and would roll about all day long on his cot,
+vaguely and happily dreaming about the white melancholy fields, with
+their snow-mounds, about the refreshment bar at the railroad station,
+and about other things still more vague and bright. He was well fed in
+the prison, and somehow he began to grow stout rapidly and to assume
+airs.
+
+“Now she would have liked me,” he thought of his master’s wife. “Now I
+am stout—not worse-looking than the master.”
+
+But he longed for a drink of vodka, to drink and to take a ride on
+horseback, to ride fast, madly.
+
+When the terrorists were arrested the news of it reached the prison.
+And in answer to Yanson’s usual question, the warden said eagerly and
+unexpectedly:
+
+“It won’t be long now!”
+
+He looked at Yanson calmly with an air of importance and repeated:
+
+“It won’t be long now. I suppose in about a week.”
+
+Yanson turned pale, and as though falling asleep, so turbid was the
+look in his glassy eyes, asked:
+
+“Are you joking?”
+
+“First you could not wait, and now you think I am joking. We are not
+allowed to joke here. You like to joke, but we are not allowed to,”
+said the warden with dignity as he went away.
+
+Toward evening of that day Yanson had already grown thinner. His skin,
+which had stretched out and had become smooth for a time, was suddenly
+covered with a multitude of small wrinkles, and in places it seemed
+even to hang down. His eyes became sleepy, and all his motions were now
+so slow and languid as though each turn of the head, each move of the
+fingers, each step of the foot were a complicated and cumbersome
+undertaking which required very careful deliberation. At night he lay
+on his cot, but did not close his eyes, and thus, heavy with sleep,
+they remained open until morning.
+
+“Aha!” said the warden with satisfaction, seeing him on the following
+day. “This is no dramshop for you, my dear!”
+
+With a feeling of pleasant gratification, like a scientist whose
+experiment had proved successful again, he examined the condemned man
+closely and carefully from head to foot. Now everything would go along
+as necessary. Satan was disgraced, the sacredness of the prison and the
+execution was re-established, and the old man inquired condescendingly,
+even with a feeling of sincere pity:
+
+“Do you want to meet somebody or not?”
+
+“What for?”
+
+“Well, to say good-by! Have you no mother, for instance, or a brother?”
+
+“I must not be hanged,” said Yanson softly, and looked askance at the
+warden. “I don’t want to be hanged.”
+
+The warden looked at him and waved his hand in silence.
+
+Toward evening Yanson grew somewhat calmer.
+
+The day had been so ordinary, the cloudy winter sky looked so ordinary,
+the footsteps of people and their conversation on matters of business
+sounded so ordinary, the smell of the sour soup of cabbage was so
+ordinary, customary and natural that he again ceased believing in the
+execution. But the night became terrible to him. Before this Yanson had
+felt the night simply as darkness, as an especially dark time, when it
+was necessary to go to sleep, but now he began to be aware of its
+mysterious and uncanny nature. In order not to believe in death, it was
+necessary to hear and see and feel ordinary things about him,
+footsteps, voices, light, the soup of sour cabbage. But in the dark
+everything was unnatural; the silence and the darkness were in
+themselves something like death.
+
+And the longer the night dragged the more dreadful it became. With the
+ignorant innocence of a child or a savage, who believe everything
+possible, Yanson felt like crying to the sun: “Shine!” He begged, he
+implored that the sun should shine, but the night drew its long, dark
+hours remorselessly over the earth, and there was no power that could
+hasten its course. And this impossibility, arising for the first time
+before the weak consciousness of Yanson, filled him with terror. Still
+not daring to realize it clearly, he already felt the inevitability of
+approaching death, and felt himself making the first step upon the
+gallows, with benumbed feet.
+
+Day quieted him, but night again filled him with fear, and so it was
+until one night when he realized fully that death was inevitable, that
+it would come in three days at dawn with the sunrise.
+
+He had never thought of what death was, and it had no image to him—but
+now he realized clearly, he saw, he felt that it had entered his cell
+and was looking for him, groping about with its hands. And to save
+himself, he began to run wildly about the room.
+
+But the cell was so small that it seemed that its corners were not
+sharp but dull, and that all of them were pushing him into the center
+of the room. And there was nothing behind which to hide. And the door
+was locked. And it was dark. Several times he struck his body against
+the walls, making no sound, and once he struck against the door—it gave
+forth a dull, empty sound. He stumbled over something and fell upon his
+face, and then he felt that IT was going to seize him. Lying on his
+stomach, holding to the floor, hiding his face in the dark, dirty
+asphalt, Yanson howled in terror. He lay; and cried at the top of his
+voice until some one came. And when he was lifted from the floor and
+seated upon the cot, and cold water was poured over his head, he still
+did not dare open his tightly closed eyes. He opened one eye, and
+noticing some one’s boot in one of the corners of the room, he
+commenced crying again.
+
+But the cold water began to produce its effect in bringing him to his
+senses. To help the effect, the warden on duty, the same old man,
+administered medicine to Yanson in the form of several blows upon the
+head. And this sensation of life returning to him really drove the fear
+of death away. Yanson opened his eyes, and then, his mind utterly
+confused, he slept soundly for the remainder of the night. He lay on
+his back, with mouth open, and snored loudly, and between his lashes,
+which were not tightly closed, his flat, dead eyes, which were upturned
+so that the pupil did not show, could be seen.
+
+Later, everything in the world—day and night, footsteps, voices, the
+soup of sour cabbage, produced in him a continuous terror, plunging him
+into a state of savage uncomprehending astonishment. His weak mind was
+unable to combine these two things which so monstrously contradicted
+each other—the bright day, the odor and taste of cabbage—and the fact
+that two days later he must die. He did not think of anything. He did
+not even count the hours, but simply stood in mute stupefaction before
+this contradiction which tore his brain in two. And he became evenly
+pale, neither white nor redder in parts, and appeared to be calm. Only
+he ate nothing and ceased sleeping altogether. He sat all night long on
+a stool, his legs crossed under him, in fright. Or he walked about in
+his cell, quietly, stealthily, and sleepily looking about him on all
+sides. His mouth was half-open all the time, as though from incessant
+astonishment, and before taking the most ordinary thing into his hands,
+he would examine it stupidly for a long time, and would take it
+distrustfully.
+
+When he became thus, the wardens as well as the sentinel who watched
+him through the little window, ceased paying further attention to him.
+This was the customary condition of prisoners, and reminded the wardens
+of cattle being led to slaughter after a staggering blow.
+
+“Now he is stunned, now he will feel nothing until his very death,”
+said the warden, looking at him with experienced eyes. “Ivan! Do you
+hear? Ivan!”
+
+“I must not be hanged,” answered Yanson, in a dull voice, and his lower
+jaw again drooped.
+
+“You should not have committed murder. You would not be hanged then,”
+answered the chief warden, a young but very important-looking man with
+medals on his chest. “You committed murder, yet you do not want to be
+hanged?”
+
+“He wants to kill human beings without paying for it. Fool! fool!” said
+another.
+
+“I don’t want to be hanged,” said Yanson.
+
+“Well, my friend, you may want it or not, that’s your affair,” replied
+the chief warden indifferently. “Instead of talking nonsense, you had
+better arrange your affairs. You still have something.”
+
+“He has nothing. One shirt and a suit of clothes. And a fur cap! A
+sport!”
+
+Thus time passed until Thursday. And on Thursday, at midnight a number
+of people entered Yanson’s cell, and one man, with shoulder-straps,
+said:
+
+“Well, get ready. We must go.”
+
+Yanson, moving slowly and drowsily as before, put on everything he had
+and tied his muddy-red muffler about his neck. The man with
+shoulder-straps, smoking a cigarette, said to some one while watching
+Yanson dress:
+
+“What a warm day this will be. Real spring.”
+
+Yanson’s small eyes were closing; he seemed to be falling asleep, and
+he moved so slowly and stiffly that the warden cried to him:
+
+“Hey, there! Quicker! Have you fallen asleep?”
+
+Suddenly Yanson stopped.
+
+“I don’t want to be hanged,” said he.
+
+He was taken by the arms and led away, and began to stride obediently,
+raising his shoulders. Outside he found himself in the moist, spring
+air, and beads of sweat stood under his little nose. Notwithstanding
+that it was night, it was thawing very strongly and drops of water were
+dripping upon the stones. And waiting while the soldiers, clanking
+their sabres and bending their heads, were stepping into the unlighted
+black carriage, Yanson lazily moved his finger under his moist nose and
+adjusted the badly tied muffler about his neck.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV WE COME FROM ORYOL
+
+The same council-chamber of the military district court which had
+condemned Yanson had also condemned to death a peasant of the
+Government of Oryol, of the District of Yeletzk, Mikhail Golubets,
+nicknamed Tsiganok, also Tatarin. His latest crime, proven beyond
+question, had been the murder of three people and armed robbery. Behind
+that, his dark past disappeared in a depth of mystery. There were vague
+rumors that he had participated in a series of other murders and
+robberies, and in his path there was felt to be a dark trail of blood,
+fire, and drunken debauchery. He called himself murderer with utter
+frankness and sincerity, and scornfully regarded those who, according
+to the latest fashion, styled themselves “expropriators.” Of his last
+crime, since it was useless for him to deny anything, he spoke freely
+and in detail, but in answer to questions about his past, he merely
+gritted his teeth, whistled, and said:
+
+“Search for the wind of the fields!”
+
+When he was annoyed in cross-examination, Tsiganok assumed a serious
+and dignified air:
+
+“All of us from Oryol are thoroughbreds,” he would say gravely and
+deliberately. “Oryol and Kroma are the homes of first-class thieves.
+Karachev and Livna are the breeding-places of thieves. And Yeletz—is
+the parent of all thieves. Now—what else is there to say?”
+
+He was nicknamed Tsiganok (gypsy) because of his appearance and his
+thievish manner. He was black-haired, lean, with yellow spots on his
+prominent, “Tartar-like cheek-bones. His glance was swift, brief, but
+fearfully direct and searching, and the thing upon which he looked for
+a moment seemed to lose something, seemed to deliver up to him a part
+of itself, and to become something else. It was just as unpleasant and
+repugnant to take a cigarette at which he looked, as though it had
+already been in his mouth. There was a certain constant restlessness in
+him, now twisting him like a rag, now throwing him about like a body of
+coiling live wires. And he drank water almost by the bucket.
+
+To all questions during the trial he answered shortly, firmly, jumping
+up quickly, and at times he seemed to answer even with pleasure.
+
+“Correct!” he would say.
+
+Sometimes he emphasized it.
+
+“Cor-r-rect!”
+
+At one time, suddenly, when they were speaking of something that would
+hardly have seemed to suggest it, he jumped to his feet and asked the
+presiding judge:
+
+“Will you allow me to whistle?”
+
+“What for?” asked the judge, surprised.
+
+“They said that I gave the signal to my comrades. I would like to show
+you how. It is very interesting.”
+
+The judge consented, somewhat wonderingly. Tsiganok quickly placed four
+fingers in his mouth, two fingers of each hand, rolled his eyes
+fiercely—and then the dead air of the courtroom was suddenly rent by a
+real, wild, murderer’s whistle—at which frightened horses leap and rear
+on their hind legs and human faces involuntarily blanch. The mortal
+anguish of him who is to be assassinated, the wild joy of the murderer,
+the dreadful warning, the call, the gloom and loneliness of a stormy
+autumn night—all this rang in his piercing shriek, which was neither
+human nor beastly.
+
+The presiding officer shouted—then waved his arm at Tsiganok, and
+Tsiganok obediently became silent. And, like an artist who had
+triumphantly performed a difficult aria, he sat down, wiped his wet
+fingers upon his coat, and surveyed those present with an air of
+satisfaction.
+
+“What a robber!” said one of the judges, rubbing his ear.
+
+Another one, however, with a wild Russian beard, but with the eyes of a
+Tartar, like those of Tsiganok, gazed pensively above Tsiganok’s head,
+then smiled and remarked:
+
+“It is indeed interesting.”
+
+With light hearts, without mercy, without the slightest pangs of
+conscience, the judges brought out against Tsiganok a verdict of death.
+
+“Correct!” said Tsiganok, when the verdict was pronounced. “In the open
+field and on a cross-beam! Correct!”
+
+And turning to the convoy, he hurled with bravado:
+
+“Well, are we not going? Come on, you sour-coat. And hold your gun—I
+might take it away from you!”
+
+The soldier looked at him sternly, with fear, exchanged glances with
+his comrade, and felt the lock of his gun. The other did the same. And
+all the way to the prison the soldiers felt that they were not walking
+but flying through the air—as if hypnotized by the prisoner, they felt
+neither the ground beneath their feet, nor the passage of time, nor
+themselves.
+
+Mishka Tsiganok, like Yanson, had had to spend seventeen days in prison
+before his execution. And all seventeen days passed as though they were
+one day—they were bound up in one inextinguishable thought of escape,
+of freedom, of life. The restlessness of Tsiganok, which was now
+repressed by the walls and the bars and the dead window through which
+nothing could be seen, turned all its fury upon himself and burned his
+soul like coals scattered upon boards. As though he were in a drunken
+vapor, bright but incomplete images swarmed upon him, failing and then
+becoming confused, and then again rushing through his mind in an
+unrestrainable blinding whirlwind—and all were bent toward escape,
+toward liberty, toward life. With his nostrils expanded, like those of
+a horse, Tsiganok smelt the air for hours long—it seemed to him that he
+could smell the odor of hemp, of the smoke of fire—the colorless and
+biting smell of burning. Now he whirled about in the room like a top,
+touching the walls, tapping them nervously with his fingers from time
+to time, taking aim, boring the ceiling with his gaze, filing the
+prison bars. By his restlessness, he had tired out the soldiers who
+watched him through the little window, and who, several times, in
+despair, had threatened to shoot. Tsiganok would retort, coarsely and
+derisively, and the quarrel would end peacefully because the dispute
+would soon turn into boorish, unoffending abuse, after which shooting
+would have seemed absurd and impossible.
+
+Tsiganok slept during the nights soundly, without stirring, in
+unchanging yet live motionlessness, like a wire spring in temporary
+inactivity. But as soon as he arose, he immediately commenced to walk,
+to plan, to grope about. His hands were always dry and hot, but his
+heart at times would suddenly grow cold, as if a cake of unmelting ice
+had been placed upon his chest, sending a slight, dry shiver through
+his whole body. At such times, Tsiganok, always dark in complexion,
+would turn black, assuming the shade of bluish cast-iron. And he
+acquired a curious habit; as though he had eaten too much of something
+sickeningly sweet, he kept licking his lips, smacking them, and would
+spit on the floor, hissingly, through his teeth. When he spoke, he did
+not finish his words, so rapidly did his thoughts run that his tongue
+was unable to compass them.
+
+One day the chief warden, accompanied by a soldier, entered his cell.
+He looked askance at the floor and said gruffly:
+
+“Look! How dirty he has made it!”
+
+Tsiganok retorted quickly:
+
+“You’ve made the whole world dirty, you fat-face, and yet I haven’t
+said anything to you. What brings you here?”
+
+The warden, speaking as gruffly as before, asked him whether he would
+act as executioner. Tsiganok burst out laughing, showing his teeth.
+
+“You can’t find any one else? That’s good! Go ahead, hang! Ha! ha! ha!
+The necks are there, the rope is there, but there is nobody to string
+it up. By God! that’s good!”
+
+“You’ll save your neck if you do it.”
+
+“Of course—I couldn’t hang them if I were dead. Well said, you fool!”
+
+“Well, what do you say? Is it all the same to you?”
+
+“And how do you hang them here? I suppose they’re choked on the sly.”
+
+“No, with music,” snarled the warden.
+
+“Well, what a fool! Of course it can be done with music. This way!” and
+he began to sing, with a bold and daring swing.
+
+“You have lost your wits, my friend,” said the warden. “What do you
+say? Speak sensibly.”
+
+Tsiganok grinned.
+
+“How eager you are! Come another time and I’ll tell you.”
+
+After that, into that chaos of bright, yet incomplete images which
+oppressed Tsiganok by their impetuosity, a new image came—how good it
+would be to become a hangman in a red shirt. He pictured to himself
+vividly a square crowded with people, a high scaffold, and he,
+Tsiganok, in a red shirt walking about upon the scaffold with an ax.
+The sun shone overhead, gaily flashing from the ax, and everything was
+so gay and bright that even the man whose head was soon to be chopped
+off was smiling. And behind the crowd, wagons and the heads of horses
+could be seen—the peasants had come from the village; and beyond them,
+further, he could see the village itself.
+
+“Ts-akh!”
+
+Tsiganok smacked his lips, licking them, and spat. And suddenly he felt
+as though a fur cap had been pushed over his head to his very mouth—it
+became black and stifling, and his heart again became like a cake of
+unmelting ice, sending a slight, dry shiver through his whole body.
+
+The warden came in twice again, and Tsiganok, showing his teeth, said:
+
+“How eager you are! Come in again!”
+
+Finally one day the warden shouted through the casement window as he
+passed rapidly:
+
+“You’ve let your chance slip by, you fool! We’ve found somebody else.”
+
+“The devil take you! Hang yourself!” snarled Tsiganok, and he stopped
+dreaming of the execution.
+
+But toward the end, the nearer he approached the time, the weight of
+the fragments of his broken images became unbearable. Tsiganok now felt
+like standing still, like spreading his legs and standing—but a
+whirling current of thoughts carried him away and there was nothing at
+which he could clutch—everything about him swam. And his sleep also
+became uneasy. Dreams even more violent than his thoughts appeared—new
+dreams, solid, heavy, like wooden painted blocks. And it was no longer
+like a current, but like an endless fall to an endless depth, a
+whirling flight through the whole visible world of colors.
+
+When Tsiganok was free he had worn only a pair of dashing mustaches,
+but in the prison a short, black, bristly beard grew on his face and it
+made him look fearsome, insane. At times Tsiganok really lost his
+senses and whirled absurdly about in the cell, still tapping upon the
+rough, plastered walls nervously. And he drank water like a horse.
+
+At times toward evening when they lit the lamp, Tsiganok would stand on
+all fours in the middle of his cell and would howl the quivering howl
+of a wolf. He was peculiarly serious while doing it, and would howl as
+though he were performing an important and indispensable act. He would
+fill his chest with air and then exhale it, slowly in a prolonged
+tremulous howl, and, cocking his eyes, would listen intently as the
+sound issued forth. And the very quiver in his voice seemed in a manner
+intentional. He did not scream wildly, but drew out each note carefully
+in that mournful wail full of untold sorrow and terror.
+
+Then he would suddenly break off howling and for several minutes would
+remain silent, still standing on all fours. Then suddenly he would
+mutter softly, staring at the ground:
+
+“My darlings, my sweethearts!... My darlings, my sweethearts! have
+pity.... My darlings!... My sweethearts!”
+
+And it seemed again as if he were listening intently to his own voice.
+As he said each word he would listen.
+
+Then he would jump up and for a whole hour would curse continually.
+
+He cursed picturesquely, shouting and rolling his blood-shot eyes.
+
+“If you hang me—hang me!” and he would burst out cursing again.
+
+And the sentinel, in the meantime white as chalk, weeping with pain and
+fright, would knock at the door with the butt-end of the gun and cry
+helplessly:
+
+“I’ll fire! I’ll kill you as sure as I live! Do you hear?”
+
+But he dared not shoot. If there was no actual rebellion they never
+fired at those who had been condemned to death. And Tsiganok would
+gnash his teeth, would curse and spit. His brain thus racked on a
+monstrously sharp blade between life and death was falling to pieces
+like a lump of dry clay.
+
+When they entered the cell at midnight to lead Tsiganok to the
+execution he began to bustle about and seemed to have recovered his
+spirits. Again he had that sweet taste in his mouth, and his saliva
+collected abundantly, but his cheeks turned rosy and in his eyes began
+to glisten his former somewhat savage slyness. Dressing himself he
+asked the official:
+
+“Who is going to do the hanging? A new man? I suppose he hasn’t learned
+his job yet.”
+
+“You needn’t worry about it,” answered the official dryly.
+
+“I can’t help worrying, your Honor. I am going to be hanged, not you.
+At least don’t be stingy with the government’s soap on the noose.”
+
+“All right, all right! Keep quiet!”
+
+“This man here has eaten all your soap,” said Tsiganok, pointing to the
+warden. “See how his face shines.”
+
+“Silence!”
+
+“Don’t be stingy!”
+
+And Tsiganok burst out laughing. But he began to feel that it was
+getting ever sweeter in his mouth, and suddenly his legs began to feel
+strangely numb. Still, on coming out into the yard, he managed to
+exclaim:
+
+“The carriage of the Count of Bengal!”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V KISS—AND SAY NOTHING
+
+The verdict concerning the five terrorists was pronounced finally and
+confirmed upon the same day. The condemned were not told when the
+execution would take place, but they knew from the usual procedure that
+they would be hanged the same night, or, at the very latest, upon the
+following night. And when it was proposed to them that they meet their
+relatives upon the following Thursday they understood that the
+execution would take place on Friday at dawn.
+
+Tanya Kovalchuk had no near relatives, and those whom she had were
+somewhere in the wilderness in Little Russia, and it was not likely
+that they even knew of the trial or of the coming execution. Musya and
+Werner, as unidentified people, were not supposed to have relatives,
+and only two, Sergey Golovin and Vasily Kashirin, were to meet their
+parents. Both of them looked upon that meeting with terror and anguish,
+yet they dared not refuse the old people the last word, the last kiss.
+
+Sergey Golovin was particularly tortured by the thought of the coming
+meeting. He dearly loved his father and mother; he had seen them but a
+short while before, and now he was in a state of terror as to what
+would happen when they came to see him. The execution itself, in all
+its monstrous horror, in its brain-stunning madness, he could imagine
+more easily, and it seemed less terrible than these other few moments
+of meeting, brief and unsatisfactory, which seemed to reach beyond
+time, beyond life itself. How to look, what to think, what to say, his
+mind could not determine. The most simple and ordinary act, to take his
+father by the hand, to kiss him, and to say, “How do you do, father?”
+seemed to him unspeakably horrible in its monstrous, inhuman, absurd
+deceitfulness.
+
+After the sentence the condemned were not placed together in one cell,
+as Tanya Kovalchuk had supposed they would be, but each was put in
+solitary confinement, and all the morning, until eleven o’clock, when
+his parents came, Sergey Golovin paced his cell furiously, tugged at
+his beard, frowned pitiably and muttered inaudibly. Sometimes he would
+stop abruptly, would breathe deeply and then exhale like a man who has
+been too long under water. But he was so healthy, his young life was so
+strong within him, that even in the moments of most painful suffering
+his blood played under his skin, reddening his cheeks, and his blue
+eyes shone brightly and frankly.
+
+But everything was far different from what he had anticipated.
+
+Nikolay Sergeyevich Golovin, Sergey’s father, a retired colonel, was
+the first to enter the room where the meeting took place. He was all
+white—his face, his beard, his hair, and his hands—as if he were a snow
+statue attired in man’s clothes. He had on the same old but
+well-cleaned coat, smelling of benzine, with new shoulder-straps
+crosswise, that he had always worn, and he entered firmly, with an air
+of stateliness, with strong and steady steps. He stretched out his
+white, thin hand and said loudly:
+
+“How do you do, Sergey?”
+
+Behind him Sergey’s mother entered with short steps, smiling strangely.
+But she also pressed his hands and repeated loudly:
+
+“How do you do, Seryozhenka?”
+
+She kissed him on the lips and sat down silently. She did not rush over
+to him; she did not burst into tears; she did not break into a sob; she
+did not do any of the terrible things which Sergey had feared. She just
+kissed him and silently sat down. And with her trembling hands she even
+adjusted her black silk dress.
+
+Sergey did not know that the colonel, having locked himself all the
+previous night in his little study, had deliberated upon this ritual
+with all his power. “We must not aggravate, but ease the last moments
+of our son,” resolved the colonel firmly, and he carefully weighed
+every possible phase of the conversation, every act and movement that
+might take place on the following day. But somehow he became confused,
+forgetting what he had prepared, and he wept bitterly in the corner of
+the oilcloth-covered couch. In the morning he explained to his wife how
+she should behave at the meeting.
+
+“The main thing is, kiss—and say nothing!” he taught her. “Later you
+may speak—after a while—but when you kiss him, be silent. Don’t speak
+right after the kiss, do you understand? Or you will say what you
+should not say.”
+
+“I understand, Nikolay Sergeyevich,” answered the mother, weeping.
+
+“And you must not weep. For God’s sake, do not weep! You will kill him
+if you weep, old woman!”
+
+“Why do you weep?”
+
+“With women one cannot help weeping. But you must not weep, do you
+hear?”
+
+“Very well, Nikolay Sergeyevich.”
+
+Riding in the drozhky, he had intended to school her in the
+instructions again, but he forgot. And so they rode in silence, bent,
+both gray and old, and they were lost in thought, while the city was
+gay and noisy. It was Shrovetide, and the streets were crowded.
+
+They sat down. Then the colonel stood up, assumed a studied pose,
+placing his right hand upon the border of his coat. Sergey sat for an
+instant, looked closely upon the wrinkled face of his mother and then
+jumped up.
+
+“Be seated, Seryozhenka,” begged the mother.
+
+“Sit down, Sergey,” repeated the father.
+
+They became silent. The mother smiled.
+
+“How we have petitioned for you, Seryozhenka! Father—”
+
+“You should not have done that, mother——”
+
+The colonel spoke firmly:
+
+“We had to do it, Sergey, so that you should not think your parents had
+forsaken you.”
+
+They became silent again. It was terrible for them to utter even a
+word, as though each word in the language had lost its individual
+meaning and meant but one thing—Death. Sergey looked at his father’s
+coat, which smelt of benzine, and thought: “They have no servant now,
+consequently he must have cleaned it himself. How is it that I never
+before noticed when he cleaned his coat? I suppose he does it in the
+morning.” Suddenly he asked:
+
+“And how is sister? Is she well?”
+
+“Ninochka does not know anything,” the mother answered hastily.
+
+The colonel interrupted her sternly: “Why should you tell a falsehood?
+The child read it in the newspapers. Let Sergey know that
+everybody—that those who are dearest to him—were thinking of him—at
+this time—and—”
+
+He could not say any more and stopped. Suddenly the mother’s face
+contracted, then it spread out, became agitated, wet and wild-looking.
+Her discolored eyes stared blindly, and her breathing became more
+frequent, and briefer, louder.
+
+“Se—Se—Se—Ser—” she repeated without moving her lips. “Ser—”
+
+“Dear mother!”
+
+The colonel strode forward, and all quivering in every fold of his
+coat, in every wrinkle of his face, not understanding how terrible he
+himself looked in his death-like whiteness, in his heroic, desperate
+firmness. He said to his wife:
+
+“Be silent! Don’t torture him! Don’t torture him! He has to die! Don’t
+torture him!”
+
+Frightened, she had already become silent, but he still shook his
+clenched fists before him and repeated:
+
+“Don’t torture him!”
+
+Then he stepped back, placed his trembling hands behind his back, and
+loudly, with an expression of forced calm, asked with pale lips:
+
+“When?”
+
+“To-morrow morning,” answered Sergey, his lips also pale.
+
+The mother looked at the ground, chewing her lips, as if she did not
+hear anything. And continuing to chew, she uttered these simple words,
+strangely, as though they dropped like lead:
+
+“Ninochka told me to kiss you, Seryozhenka.”
+
+“Kiss her for me,” said Sergey.
+
+“Very well. The Khvostovs send you their regards.”
+
+“Which Khvostovs? Oh, yes!”
+
+The colonel interrupted:
+
+“Well, we must go. Get up, mother; we must go.” The two men lifted the
+weakened old woman.
+
+“Bid him good-by!” ordered the colonel. “Make the sign of the cross.”
+
+She did everything as she was told. But as she made the sign of the
+cross, and kissed her son a brief kiss, she shook her head and murmured
+weakly:
+
+“No, it isn’t the right way! It is not the right way! What will I say?
+How will I say it? No, it is not the right way!”
+
+“Good-by, Sergey!” said the father. They shook hands, and kissed each
+other quickly but heartily.
+
+“You—” began Sergey.
+
+“Well?” asked the father abruptly.
+
+“No, no! It is not the right way! How shall I say it?” repeated the
+mother weakly, nodding her head. She had sat down again and was rocking
+herself back and forth.
+
+“You—” Sergey began again. Suddenly his face wrinkled pitiably,
+childishly, and his eyes filled with tears immediately. Through the
+sparkling gleams of his tears he looked closely into the white face of
+his father, whose eyes had also filled.
+
+“You, father, are a noble man!”
+
+“What is that? What are you saying?” said the colonel, surprised. And
+then suddenly, as if broken in two, he fell with his head upon his
+son’s shoulder. He had been taller than Sergey, but now he became
+short, and his dry, downy head lay like a white ball upon his son’s
+shoulder. And they kissed silently and passionately: Sergey kissed the
+silvery white hair, and the old man kissed the prisoner’s garb.
+
+“And I?” suddenly said a loud voice.
+
+They looked around. Sergey’s mother was standing, her head thrown back,
+looking at them angrily, almost with contempt.
+
+“What is it, mother?” cried the colonel.
+
+“And I?” she said, shaking her head with insane intensity. “You
+kiss—and I? You men! Yes? And I? And I?”
+
+“Mother!” Sergey rushed over to her.
+
+What took place then it is unnecessary and impossible to describe... .
+
+The last words of the colonel were:
+
+“I give you my blessing for your death, Seryozha. Die bravely, like an
+officer.”
+
+And they went away. Somehow they went away. They had been there, they
+had stood, they had spoken—and suddenly they had gone. Here sat his
+mother, there stood his father—and suddenly somehow they had gone away.
+Returning to the cell, Sergey lay down on the cot, his face turned
+toward the wall, in order to hide it from the soldiers, and he wept for
+a long time. Then, exhausted by his tears, he slept soundly.
+
+To Vasily Kashirin only his mother came. His father, who was a wealthy
+tradesman, did not want to come. Vasily met the old woman, as he was
+pacing up and down the room, trembling with cold, although it was warm,
+even hot. And the conversation was brief, painful.
+
+“It wasn’t worth coming, mother. You’ll only torture yourself and me.”
+
+“Why did you do it, Vasya? Why did you do it? Oh, Lord!” The old woman
+burst out weeping, wiping her face with the ends of her black, woolen
+kerchief. And with the habit which he and his brothers had always had
+of crying at their mother, who did not understand anything, he stopped,
+and, shuddering as with cold, spoke angrily:
+
+“There! You see! I knew it! You understand nothing, mother! Nothing!”
+
+“Well—well—all right! Do you feel—cold?”
+
+“Cold!” Vasily answered bluntly, and again began to pace the room,
+looking at his mother askance, as if annoyed.
+
+“Perhaps you have caught cold?”
+
+“Oh, mother what is a cold, when—” and he waved his hand helplessly.
+
+The old woman was about to say: “And your father ordered wheat cakes
+beginning with Monday,” but she was frightened, and said:
+
+“I told him: ‘It is your son, you should go, give him your blessing.’
+No, the old beast persisted—”
+
+“Let him go to the devil! What sort of father has he been to me? He has
+been a scoundrel all his life, and remains a scoundrel!”
+
+“Vasenka! Do you speak of your father like this?” said the old woman
+reproachfully, straightening herself.
+
+“About my father!”
+
+“About your own father?”
+
+“He is no father to me!”
+
+It was strange and absurd. Before him was the thought of death, while
+here something small, empty and trivial arose, and his words cracked
+like the shells of nuts under foot. And almost crying with
+sorrow—because of the eternal misunderstanding which all his life long
+had stood like a wall between him and those nearest to him, and which
+even now, in the last hour before death, peered at him stupidly and
+strangely through small, widely opened eyes—Vasily exclaimed:
+
+“Don’t you understand that I am to be hanged soon? Hanged! Do you
+understand it? Hanged!”
+
+“You shouldn’t have harmed anybody and nobody would—” cried the old
+woman.
+
+“My God! What is this? Even beasts do not act like this! Am I not your
+son?”
+
+He began to cry, and seated himself in a corner. The old woman also
+burst out crying in her corner. Powerless, even for an instant, to
+blend in a feeling of love and to offset by it the horror of impending
+death, they wept their cold tears of loneliness which did not warm
+their hearts. The mother said:
+
+“You ask whether I am a mother to you? You reproach me! And I have
+grown completely gray during these days. I have become an old woman.
+And yet you say—you reproach me!”
+
+“Well, mother, it is all right. Forgive me. It is time for you to go.
+Kiss my brothers for me.”
+
+“Am I not your mother? Do I not feel sorry?”
+
+At last she went away. She wept bitterly, wiping her face with the
+edges of her kerchief, and she did not see the road. And the farther
+she got from the prison the more bitterly she wept. She retraced her
+steps to the prison, and then she strangely lost her way in the city in
+which she had been born, in which she lived to her old age. She
+strolled into a deserted little garden with a few old, gnarled trees,
+and she seated herself upon a wet bench, from which the snow had
+melted.
+
+And suddenly she understood. He was to be hanged upon the morrow!
+
+The old woman jumped up, about to run, but suddenly her head began to
+swim terribly and she fell to the ground. The icy path was wet and
+slippery, and she could not rise. She turned about, lifted herself on
+her elbows and knelt, then fell back on her side. The black kerchief
+had slipped down, baring upon the back of her head a bald spot amid her
+muddy-gray hair; and then somehow it seemed to her that she was
+feasting at a wedding, that her son was getting married, and she had
+been drinking wine and had become intoxicated.
+
+“I can’t! My God! I can’t!” she cried, as though declining something.
+Swaying her head, she crawled over the wet, frozen crust, and all the
+time it seemed to her that they were pouring out more wine for her,
+more wine!
+
+And her heart had already begun to pain her from her intoxicated
+laughter, from the rejoicing, from the wild dancing—and they kept on
+pouring more wine for her—pouring more wine!
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI THE HOURS ARE RUSHING
+
+On the fortress where the condemned terrorists were imprisoned there
+was a steeple with an old-fashioned clock upon it. At every hour, at
+every half-hour, and at every quarter-hour the clock rang out in
+long-drawn, mournful chimes, slowly melting high in the air, like the
+distant and plaintive call of migrating birds. In the daytime, this
+strange and sad music was lost in the noise of the city, of the wide
+and crowded street which passed near the fortress. The cars buzzed
+along, the hoofs of the horses beat upon the pavements, the rocking
+automobiles honked in the distance, peasant izvozchiks had come
+especially from the outskirts of the city for the Shrovetide season and
+the tinkling of the bells upon the necks of their little horses filled
+the air. The prattle of voices—an intoxicated, merry Shrovetide prattle
+of voices arose everywhere. And in the midst of these various noises
+there was the young thawing spring, the muddy pools on the meadows, the
+trees of the squares which had suddenly become black. From the sea a
+warm breeze was blowing in broad, moist gusts. It was almost as if one
+could have seen the tiny fresh particles of air carried away, merged
+into the free, endless expanse of the atmosphere—could have heard them
+laughing in their flight.
+
+At night the street grew quiet in the lonely light of the large,
+electric sun. And then, the enormous fortress, within whose walls there
+was not a single light, passed into darkness and silence, separating
+itself from the ever living, stirring city by a wall of silence,
+motionlessness and darkness. Then it was that the strokes of the clock
+became audible. A strange melody, foreign to earth, was slowly and
+mournfully born and died out up in the heights. It was born again;
+deceiving the ear, it rang plaintively and softly—it broke off—and rang
+again. Like large, transparent, glassy drops, hours and minutes
+descended from an unknown height into a metallic, softly resounding
+bell.
+
+This was the only sound that reached the cells, by day and night, where
+the condemned remained in solitary confinement. Through the roof,
+through the thickness of the stone walls, it penetrated, stirring the
+silence—it passed unnoticed, to return again, also unnoticed. Sometimes
+they awaited it in despair, living from one sound to the next, trusting
+the silence no longer. Only important criminals were sent to this
+prison. There were special rules there, stern, grim and severe, like
+the corner of the fortress wall, and if there be nobility in cruelty,
+then the dull, dead, solemnly mute silence, which caught the slightest
+rustle and breathing, was noble.
+
+And in this solemn silence, broken by the mournful tolling of the
+departing minutes, separated from all that lives, five human beings,
+two women and three men, waited for the advent of night, of dawn and
+the execution, and all of them prepared for it, each in his or her own
+way.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII THERE IS NO DEATH
+
+Just as Tanya Kovalchuk had thought all her life only of others and
+never of herself, so now she suffered and grieved painfully, but only
+for her comrades. She pictured death, only as awaiting them, as
+something tormenting only to Sergey Golovin, to Musya, to the others—as
+for herself, it did not concern her.
+
+As a recompense for her firmness and restraint in the courtroom she
+wept for long hours, as old women who have experienced great misery, or
+as very sympathetic and kind-hearted young people know how to weep. And
+the fear that perhaps Seryozha was without tobacco or Werner without
+the strong tea to which he was accustomed, in addition to the fact that
+they were to die, caused her no less pain than the idea of the
+execution itself. Death was something inevitable and even unimportant,
+of which it was not worth while to think; but for a man in prison,
+before his execution, to be left without tobacco—that was altogether
+unbearable. She recalled and went over in her mind all the pleasant
+details of their life together, and then she grew faint with fear when
+she pictured to herself the meeting between Sergey and his parents.
+
+She felt particularly sorry for Musya. It had long seemed to her that
+Musya loved Werner, and although this was not a fact, she still dreamed
+of something good and bright for both of them. When she had been free,
+Musya had worn a silver ring, on which was the design of a skull,
+bones, and a crown of thorns about them. Tanya Kovalchuk had often
+looked upon the ring as a symbol of doom, and she would ask Musya, now
+in jest, now in earnest, to remove the ring.
+
+“Make me a present of it,” she had begged.
+
+“No, Tanechka, I will not give it to you. But perhaps you will soon
+have another ring upon your finger.”
+
+For some reason or other they all in turn had thought that she would
+doubtless soon marry, and this had offended her—she wanted no husband.
+And recalling these half-jesting conversations with Musya, and the fact
+that now Musya was actually condemned to death, she choked with tears
+in her maternal pity. And each time the clock struck she raised her
+tear-stained face and listened—how were they in the other cells
+receiving this drawn-out, persistent call of death?
+
+But Musya was happy.
+
+With her hands folded behind her back, dressed in a prisoner’s garb
+which was much too large for her, and which made her look very much
+like a man—like a stripling dressed in some one else’s clothes—she
+paced her cell evenly and tirelessly. The sleeves of the coat were too
+long for her, and she turned them up, and her thin, almost childish,
+emaciated hands peeped out of the wide holes like a beautiful flower
+out of a coarse earthen jug. The rough material of the coat rubbed her
+thin white neck, and sometimes Musya would free her throat with both
+hands and would cautiously feel the spot where the irritated skin was
+red and smarted.
+
+Musya paced the cell, and, blushing in agitation, she imagined that she
+was justifying herself before the people. She tried to justify herself
+for the fact that she, who was so young, so insignificant, who had done
+so little, and who was not at all a heroine, was yet to undergo the
+same honorable and beautiful death by which real heroes and martyrs had
+died before her. With unshakable faith in human kindness, in their
+compassion, in their love, she pictured to herself how people were now
+agitated on her account, how they suffered, how they pitied her, and
+she felt so ashamed that she blushed, as if, by dying upon the
+scaffold, she had committed some tremendous, awkward blunder.
+
+At the last meeting with their counsel she had asked him to bring her
+poison, but suddenly she had changed her mind. What if he and the
+others, she thought, should consider that she was doing it merely to
+become conspicuous, or out of cowardice, that instead of dying modestly
+and unnoticed, she was attempting to glorify herself. And she added
+hastily:
+
+“No, it isn’t necessary.”
+
+And now she desired but one thing—to be able to explain to people, to
+prove to them so that they should have not the slightest doubt that she
+was not at all a heroine, that it was not terrible to die, that they
+should not feel sorry for her, nor trouble themselves about her. She
+wished to be able to explain to them that she was not at all to blame
+that she, who was so young and so insignificant, was to undergo such a
+martyr’s death, and that so much trouble should be made on her account.
+
+Like a person who is actually accused of a crime, Musya sought
+justification. She endeavored to find something that would at least
+make her sacrifice more momentous, which might give it real value. She
+reasoned:
+
+“Of course, I am young and could have lived for a long time. But—”
+
+And as a candle darkens in the glare of the rising sun, so her youth
+and her life seemed dull and dark compared to that great and
+resplendent radiance which would shine above her simple head. There was
+no justification.
+
+But perhaps that peculiar something which she bore in her
+soul—boundless love, boundless eagerness to do great deeds, her
+boundless contempt for herself—was a justification in itself. She felt
+that she was really not to blame that she was hindered from doing the
+things she could have done, which she had wished to do—that she had
+been smitten upon the threshold of the temple, at the foot of the
+altar.
+
+But if that were so, if a person is appreciated not only for what he
+has done, but also for what he had intended to do—then—then she was
+worthy of the crown of the martyr!
+
+“Is it possible?” thought Musya bashfully. “Is it possible that I am
+worthy of it? That I deserve that people should weep for me, should be
+agitated over my fate, over such a little and insignificant girl?”
+
+And she was seized with sudden joy. There were no doubts, no
+hesitations—she was received into their midst—she entered justified the
+ranks of those noble people who always ascend to heaven through fires,
+tortures and executions. Bright peace and tranquillity and endless,
+calmly radiant happiness! It was as if she had already departed from
+earth and was nearing the unknown sun of truth and life, and was
+incorporeally soaring in its light.
+
+“And that is—Death? That is not Death!” thought Musya blissfully.
+
+And if scientists, philosophers and hangmen from the world over should
+come to her cell, spreading before her books, scalpels, axes and
+nooses, and were to attempt to prove to her that Death existed, that a
+human being dies and is killed, that there is no immortality, they
+would only surprise her. How could there be no deathlessness, since she
+was already deathless? Of what other deathlessness, of what other
+death, could there be a question, since she was already dead and
+immortal, alive in death, as she had been dead in life?
+
+And if a coffin were brought into her cell with her own decomposing
+body in it, and she were told:
+
+“Look! That is you!”
+
+She would look and would answer:
+
+“No, it is not I.”
+
+And if they should attempt to convince her, frightening her by the
+ominous sight of her own decomposed body, that it was she—she, Musya,
+would answer with a smile:
+
+“No. You think that it is I, but it isn’t. I am the one you are
+speaking to; how can I be the other one?”
+
+“But you will die and become like that.”
+
+“No, I will not die.”
+
+“You will be executed. Here is the noose.”
+
+“I will be executed, but I will not die. How can I die, when I am
+already—now—immortal?”
+
+And the scientists and philosophers and hangmen would retreat,
+speaking—with a shudder:
+
+“Do not touch this place. It is holy.”
+
+What else was Musya thinking about? She was thinking of many things,
+for to her the thread of life was not broken by Death, but kept winding
+along calmly and evenly. She thought of her comrades, of those who were
+far away, and who in pain and sorrow were living through the execution
+together with them, and of those near by who were to mount the scaffold
+with her. She was surprised at Vasily—that he should have been so
+disturbed—he, who had always been so brave, and who had jested with
+Death. Thus, only on Tuesday morning, when all together they had
+attached explosive projectiles to their belts, which several hours
+later were to tear them into pieces, Tanya Kovalchuk’s hands had
+trembled with nervousness, and it had become necessary to put her
+aside, while Vasily jested, made merry, turned about, and was even so
+reckless that Werner had said sternly:
+
+“You must not be too familiar with Death.”
+
+What was he afraid of now? But this incomprehensible fear was so
+foreign to Musya’s soul that she ceased searching for the cause of
+it—and suddenly she was seized with a desperate desire to see Seryozha
+Golovin, to laugh with him. She meditated a little while, and then an
+even more desperate desire came over her to see Werner and to convince
+him of something. And imagining to herself that Werner was in the next
+cell, driving his heels into the ground with his distinct, measured
+steps, Musya spoke, as if addressing him:
+
+“No, Werner, my dear; it is all nonsense; it isn’t at all important
+whether or not you are killed. You are a sensible man, but you seem to
+be playing chess, and that by taking one figure after another the game
+is won. The important thing, Werner, is that we ourselves are ready to
+die. Do you understand? What do those people think? That there is
+nothing more terrible than death. They themselves have invented Death,
+they are themselves afraid of it, and they try to frighten us with it.
+I should like to do this—I should like to go out alone before a whole
+regiment of soldiers and fire upon them with a revolver. It would not
+matter that I would be alone, while they would be thousands, or that I
+might not kill any of them. It is that which is important—that they are
+thousands. When thousands kill one, it means that the one has
+conquered. That is true, Werner, my dear....”
+
+But this, too, became so clear to her that she did not feel like
+arguing further—Werner must understand it himself. Perhaps her mind
+simply did not want to stop at one thought—just as a bird that soars
+with ease, which sees endless horizons, and to which all space, all the
+depth, all the joy of the soft and caressing azure are accessible. The
+bell of the clock rang unceasingly, disturbing the deep silence. And
+into this harmonious, remote, beautiful sound the thoughts of the
+people flowed, and also began to ring for her; and the smoothly gliding
+images turned into music. It was just as if, on a quiet, dark night,
+Musya was riding along a broad, even road, while the easy springs of
+the carriage rocked her and the little bells tinkled. All alarm and
+agitation had passed, the fatigued body had dissolved in the darkness,
+and her joyously wearied fancy calmly created bright images, carried
+away by their color and their peaceful tranquillity. Musya recalled
+three of her comrades who had been hanged but a short time before, and
+their faces seemed bright and happy and near to her—nearer than those
+in life. Thus does a man think with joy in the morning of the house of
+his friends where he is to go in the evening, and a greeting rises to
+his smiling lips.
+
+Musya became very tired from walking. She lay down cautiously on the
+cot and continued to dream with slightly closed eyes. The clock-bell
+rang unceasingly, stirring the mute silence, and bright, singing images
+floated calmly before her. Musya thought:
+
+“Is it possible that this is Death? My God! How beautiful it is! Or is
+it Life? I do not know. I do not know. I will look and listen.”
+
+Her hearing had long given way to her imagination—from the first moment
+of her imprisonment. Inclined to be very musical, her ear had become
+keen in the silence, and on this background of silence, out of the
+meagre bits of reality, the footsteps of the guards in the corridors,
+the ringing of the clock, the rustling of the wind on the iron roof,
+the creaking of the lantern—it created complete musical pictures. At
+first Musya was afraid of them, brushed them away from her as if they
+were the hallucinations of a sickly mind. But later she understood that
+she herself was well, and that this was no derangement of any kind—and
+she gave herself up to the dreams calmly.
+
+And now, suddenly, she seemed to hear clearly and distinctly the sounds
+of military music. In astonishment, she opened her eyes, lifted her
+head—outside the window was black night, and the clock was striking.
+“Again,” she thought calmly, and closed her eyes. And as soon as she
+did so the music resounded anew. She could hear distinctly how the
+soldiers, a whole regiment, were coming from behind the corner of the
+fortress, on the right, and now they were passing her window. Their
+feet beat time with measured steps upon the frozen ground: One—two!
+One—two! She could even hear at times the leather of the boots
+creaking, how suddenly some one’s foot slipped and immediately
+recovered its steps. And the music came ever nearer—it was an entirely
+unfamiliar but a very loud and spirited holiday march. Evidently there
+was some sort of celebration in the fortress.
+
+Now the band came up alongside of her window and the cell was filled
+with merry, rhythmic, harmoniously blended sounds. One large brass
+trumpet brayed harshly out of tune, now too late, now comically running
+ahead—Musya could almost see the little soldier playing it, a great
+expression of earnestness on his face—and she laughed.
+
+Then everything moved away. The footsteps died out—One—two! One—two! At
+a distance the music sounded still more beautiful and cheerful. The
+trumpet resounded now and then with its merry, loud brass voice, out of
+tune,—and then everything died away. And the clock on the tower struck
+again, slowly, mournfully, hardly stirring the silence.
+
+“They are gone!” thought Musya, with a feeling of slight sadness. She
+felt sorry for the departing sounds, which had been so cheerful and so
+comical. She was even sorry for the departed little soldiers, because
+those busy soldiers, with their brass trumpets and their creaking
+boots, were of an entirely different sort, not at all like those at
+whom she had felt like firing a revolver.
+
+“Come again!” she begged tenderly. And more came. The figures bent over
+her, they surrounded her in a transparent cloud and lifted her up,
+where the migrating birds were soaring and screaming, like heralds. On
+the right of her, on the left, above and below her—they screamed like
+heralds. They called, they announced from afar their flight. They
+flapped their wide wings and the darkness supported them, even as the
+light had supported them. And on their convex breasts, cleaving the air
+asunder, the city far below reflected a blue light. Musya’s heart beat
+ever more evenly, her breathing grew ever more calm and quiet. She was
+falling asleep. Her face looked fatigued and pale. Beneath her eyes
+were dark circles, her girlish, emaciated hands seemed so thin,—but
+upon her lips was a smile. To-morrow, with the rise of the sun, this
+human face would be distorted with an inhuman grimace, her brain would
+be covered with thick blood, and her eyes would bulge from their
+sockets and look glassy,—but now she slept quietly and smiled in her
+great immortality.
+
+Musya fell asleep.
+
+And the life of the prison went on, deaf and sensitive, blind and
+sharp-sighted, like eternal alarm itself. Somewhere people were
+walking. Somewhere people were whispering. A gun clanked. It seemed as
+if some one shouted. Perhaps no one shouted at all—perhaps it merely
+seemed so in the silence.
+
+The little casement window in the door opened noiselessly. A dark,
+mustached face appeared in the black hole. For a long time it stared at
+Musya in astonishment—and then disappeared as noiselessly as it had
+appeared.
+
+The bells rang and sang, for a long time, painfully. It seemed as if
+the tired Hours were climbing up a high mountain toward midnight, and
+that it was becoming ever harder and harder to ascend. They fall, they
+slip, they slide down with a groan—and then again, they climb painfully
+toward the black height.
+
+Somewhere people were walking. Somewhere people were whispering. And
+they were already harnessing the horses to the black carriages without
+lanterns.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII THERE IS DEATH AS WELL AS LIFE
+
+Sergey Golovin never thought of death, as though it were something not
+to be considered, something that did not concern him in the least. He
+was a strong, healthy, cheerful youth, endowed with that calm, clear
+joy of living which causes every evil thought and feeling that might
+injure life to disappear from the organism without leaving any trace.
+Just as all cuts, wounds and stings on his body healed rapidly, so all
+that weighed upon his soul and wounded it immediately rose to the
+surface and disappeared. And he brought into every work, even into his
+enjoyments, the same calm and optimistic seriousness,—it mattered not
+whether he was occupied with photography, with bicycling or with
+preparations for a terroristic act. Everything in life was joyous,
+everything in life was important, everything should be done well.
+
+And he did everything well: he was an excellent sailor, an expert shot
+with the revolver. He was as faithful in friendship as in love, and a
+fanatic believer in the “word of honor.” His comrades laughed at him,
+saying that if the most notorious spy told him upon his word of honor
+that he was not a spy, Sergey would believe him and would shake hands
+with him as with any comrade. He had one fault,—he was convinced that
+he could sing well, whereas in fact he had no ear for music and even
+sang the revolutionary songs out of tune, and felt offended when his
+friends laughed at him.
+
+“Either you are all asses, or I am an ass,” he would declare seriously
+and even angrily. And all his friends as seriously declared: “You are
+an ass. We can tell by your voice.”
+
+But, as is sometimes the case with good people, he was perhaps liked
+more for this little foible than for his good qualities.
+
+He feared death so little and thought of it so little that on the fatal
+morning, before leaving the house of Tanya Kovalchuk, he was the only
+one who had breakfasted properly, with an appetite. He drank two
+glasses of tea with milk, and a whole five-copeck roll of bread. Then
+he glanced at Werner’s untouched bread and said:
+
+“Why don’t you eat? Eat. We must brace up.”
+
+“I don’t feel like eating.”
+
+“Then I’ll eat it. May I?”
+
+“You have a fine appetite, Seryozha.”
+
+Instead of answering, Sergey, his mouth full, began to sing in a dull
+voice, out of tune:
+
+“Hostile whirlwinds are blowing over us...”
+
+After the arrest he at first grew sad; the work had not been done well,
+they had failed; but then he thought: “There is something else now that
+must be done well—and that is, to die,” and he cheered up again. And
+however strange it may seem, beginning with the second morning in the
+fortress, he commenced devoting himself to gymnastics according to the
+unusually rational system of a certain German named Müller, which
+absorbed his interest. He undressed himself completely and, to the
+alarm and astonishment of the guard who watched him, he carefully went
+through all the prescribed eighteen exercises. The fact that the guard
+watched him and was apparently astonished, pleased him as a
+propagandist of the Müller system; and although he knew that he would
+get no answer he nevertheless spoke to the eye staring in the little
+window:
+
+“It’s a good system, my friend, it braces you up. It should be
+introduced in your regiment,” he shouted convincingly and kindly, so as
+not to frighten the soldier, not suspecting that the guard considered
+him a harmless lunatic.
+
+The fear of death came over him gradually. It was as if somebody were
+striking his heart a powerful blow with the fist from below. This
+sensation was rather painful than terrible. Then the sensation was
+forgotten, but it returned again a few hours later, and each time it
+grew more intense and of longer duration, and thus it began to assume
+vague outlines of some great, even unbearable fear.
+
+“Is it possible that I am afraid?” thought Sergey in astonishment.
+“What nonsense!”
+
+It was not he who was afraid,—it was his young, sound, strong body,
+which could not be deceived either by the exercises prescribed by the
+Müller system, or by the cold rub-downs. On the contrary, the stronger
+and the fresher his body became after the cold water, the keener and
+the more unbearable became the sensations of his recurrent fear. And
+just at those moments when, during his freedom, he had felt a special
+influx of the joy and power of life,—in the mornings after he had slept
+soundly and gone through his physical exercises,—now there appeared
+this deadening fear which was so foreign to his nature. He noticed this
+and thought:
+
+“It is foolish, Sergey! To die more easily, you should weaken the body
+and not strengthen it. It is foolish!”
+
+So he dropped his gymnastics and the rub-downs. To the soldier he
+shouted, as if to explain and justify himself:
+
+“Never mind that I have stopped. It’s a good thing, my friend,—but not
+for those who are to be hanged. But it’s very good for all others.”
+
+And, indeed, he began to feel somewhat better. He tried also to eat
+less, so as to grow still weaker, but notwithstanding the lack of pure
+air and exercises, his appetite was very good,—it was difficult for him
+to control it, and he ate everything that was brought to him. Then he
+began to manage differently—before starting to eat he would pour out
+half into the pail, and this seemed to work. A dull drowsiness and
+faintness came over him.
+
+“I’ll show you what I can do!” he threatened his body, and at the same
+time sadly, yet tenderly he felt his flabby, softened muscles with his
+hand.
+
+Soon, however, his body grew accustomed to this regime as well, and the
+fear of death appeared again—not so keen, nor so burning, but more
+disgusting, somewhat akin to a nauseating sensation. “It’s because they
+are dragging it out so long,” thought Sergey. “It would be a good idea
+to sleep all the time till the day of the execution,” and he tried to
+sleep as much as possible. At first he succeeded, but later, either
+because he had slept too much, or for some other reason, insomnia
+appeared. And with it came eager, penetrating thoughts and a longing
+for life.
+
+“I am not afraid of this devil!” he thought of Death. “I simply feel
+sorry for my life. It is a splendid thing, no matter what the
+pessimists say about it. What if they were to hang a pessimist? Ah, I
+feel sorry for life, very sorry! And why does my beard grow now? It
+didn’t grow before, but suddenly it grows—why?”
+
+He shook his head mournfully, heaving long, painful sighs. Silence—then
+a sigh; then a brief silence again—followed by a longer, deeper sigh.
+
+Thus it went on until the trial and the terrible meeting with his
+parents. When he awoke in his cell the next day he realized clearly
+that everything between him and life was ended, that there were only a
+few empty hours of waiting and then death would come,—and a strange
+sensation took possession of him. He felt as though he had been
+stripped, stripped entirely,—as if not only his clothes, but the sun,
+the air, the noise of voices and his ability to do things had been
+wrested from him. Death was not there as yet, but life was there no
+longer,—there was something new, something astonishing, inexplicable,
+not entirely reasonable and yet not altogether without
+meaning,—something so deep and mysterious and supernatural that it was
+impossible to understand.
+
+“Fie, you devil!” wondered Sergey, painfully. “What is this? Where am
+I? I—who am I?”
+
+He examined himself attentively, with interest, beginning with his
+large prison slippers, ending with his stomach where his coat
+protruded. He paced the cell, spreading out his arms and continuing to
+survey himself like a woman in a new dress which is too long for her.
+He tried to turn his head, and it turned. And this strange, terrible,
+uncouth creature was he, Sergey Golovin, and soon he would be no more!
+
+Everything became strange.
+
+He tried to walk across the cell—and it seemed strange to him that he
+could walk. He tried to sit down—and it seemed strange to him that he
+could sit. He tried to drink some water—and it seemed strange to him
+that he could drink, that he could swallow, that he could hold the cup,
+that he had fingers and that those fingers were trembling. He choked,
+began to cough and while coughing, thought: “How strange it is that I
+am coughing.”
+
+“Am I losing my reason?” thought Sergey, growing cold. “Am I coming to
+that, too? The devil take them!”
+
+He rubbed his forehead with his hand, and this also seemed strange to
+him. And then he remained breathless, motionless, petrified for hours,
+suppressing every thought, all loud breathing, all motion,—for every
+thought seemed to him but madness, every motion—madness. Time was no
+more; it appeared transformed into space, airless and transparent, into
+an enormous square upon which all were there—the earth and life and
+people. He saw all that at one glance, all to the very end, to the
+mysterious abyss—Death. And he was tortured not by the fact that Death
+was visible, but that both Life and Death were visible at the same
+time. The curtain which through eternity has hidden the mystery of life
+and the mystery of death was pushed aside by a sacrilegious hand, and
+the mysteries ceased to be mysteries—yet they remained
+incomprehensible, like the Truth written in a foreign tongue. There
+were no conceptions in his human mind, no words in his human language
+that could define what he saw. And the words “I am afraid” were uttered
+by him only because there were no other words, because no other
+conceptions existed, nor could other conceptions exist which would
+grasp this new, un-human condition. Thus would it be with a man if,
+while remaining within the bounds of human reason, experience and
+feelings, he were suddenly to see God Himself. He would see Him but
+would not understand, even though he knew that it was God, and he would
+tremble with inconceivable sufferings of incomprehension.
+
+“There is Müller for you!” he suddenly uttered loudly, with extreme
+conviction, and shook his head. And with that unexpected break in his
+feelings, of which the human soul is so capable, he laughed heartily
+and cheerfully.
+
+“Oh, Müller! My dear Müller! Oh, you splendid German! After all you are
+right, Müller, and I am an ass!”
+
+He paced the cell quickly several times and to the great astonishment
+of the soldier who was watching him through the peephole, he quickly
+undressed himself and cheerfully went through all the eighteen
+exercises with the greatest care. He stretched and expanded his young,
+somewhat emaciated body, sat down for a moment, drew deep breaths of
+air and exhaled it, stood up on tip-toe, stretched his arms and his
+feet. And after each exercise he announced, with satisfaction:
+
+“That’s it! That’s the real way, Müller!” His cheeks flushed; drops of
+warm, pleasant perspiration came from the pores of his body, and his
+heart beat soundly and evenly.
+
+“The fact is, Müller,” philosophized Sergey, expanding his chest so
+that the ribs under his thin, tight skin were outlined clearly,—“the
+fact is, that there is a nineteenth exercise—to hang by the neck
+motionless. That is called execution. Do you understand, Müller? They
+take a live man, let us say Sergey Golovin, they swaddle him as a doll
+and they hang him by the neck until he is dead. It is a foolish
+exercise, Müller, but it can’t be helped,—we have to do it.”
+
+He bent over on the right side and repeated:
+
+“We have to do it, Müller.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX DREADFUL SOLITUDE
+
+Under the same ringing of the clock, separated from Sergey and Musya by
+only a few empty cells, but yet so painfully desolate and alone in the
+whole world as though no other soul existed, poor Vasily Kashirin was
+passing the last hours of his life in terror and in anguish.
+
+Perspiring, his moist shirt clinging to his body, his once curly hair
+disheveled, he tossed about in the cell convulsively and hopelessly,
+like a man suffering from an unbearable physical torture. He would sit
+down for awhile, then start to run again, he would press his forehead
+against the wall, stop and seek something with his eyes—as if looking
+for some medicine. His expression changed as though he had two
+different faces. The former, the young face, had disappeared somewhere,
+and a new one, a terrible face that had seemed to have come out of the
+darkness, had taken its place.
+
+The fear of death had come upon him all at once and taken possession of
+him completely and forcibly. In the morning, while facing almost
+certain death, he had been care-free and had scorned it, but toward
+evening when he was placed in a cell in solitary confinement, he was
+whirled and carried away by a wave of mad fear. So long as he went of
+his own free will to face danger and death, so long as he had death,
+even though it seemed terrible, in his own hands, he felt at ease. He
+was even cheerful; in the sensation of boundless freedom, of brave and
+firm conviction of his fearless will, his little, shrunken, womanish
+fear was drowned, leaving no trace. With an infernal machine at his
+girdle, he made the cruel force of dynamite his own, also its fiery
+death-bearing power. And as he walked along the street, amidst the
+bustling, plain people, who were occupied with their affairs, who were
+hurriedly avoiding the dangers from the horses of carriages and cars,
+he seemed to himself as a stranger from another, unknown world, where
+neither death nor fear was known.
+
+And suddenly this harsh, wild, stupefying change. He can no longer go
+where he pleases, but he is led where others please. He can no longer
+choose the place he likes, but he is placed in a stone cage, and locked
+up like a thing. He can no longer choose freely, like all people,
+between life and death, but he will surely and inevitably be put to
+death. The incarnation of will-power, life and strength an instant
+before, he has now become a wretched image of the most pitiful weakness
+in the world. He has been transformed into an animal waiting to be
+slaughtered, a deaf-mute object which may be taken from place to place,
+burnt and broken. It matters not what he might say, nobody would listen
+to his words, and if he endeavored to shout, they would stop his mouth
+with a rag. Whether he can walk alone or not, they will take him away
+and hang him. And if he should offer resistance, struggle or lie down
+on the ground—they will overpower him, lift him, bind him and carry
+him, bound, to the gallows. And the fact that this machine-like work
+will be performed over him by human beings like himself, lent to them a
+new, extraordinary and ominous aspect—they seemed to him like ghosts
+that came to him for this one purpose, or like automatic puppets on
+springs. They would seize him, take him, carry him, hang him, pull him
+by the feet. They would cut the rope, take him down, carry him off and
+bury him.
+
+From the first day of his imprisonment the people and life seemed to
+him to have turned into an incomprehensibly terrible world of phantoms
+and automatic puppets. Almost maddened with fear, he attempted to
+picture to himself that human beings had tongues and that they could
+speak, but he could not—they seemed to him to be mute. He tried to
+recall their speech, the meaning of the words that people used in their
+relations with one another—but he could not. Their mouths seemed to
+open, some sounds were heard; then they moved their feet and
+disappeared. And nothing more.
+
+Thus would a man feel if he were at night alone in his house and
+suddenly all objects were to come to life, start to move and overpower
+him. And suddenly they would all begin to judge him: the cupboard, the
+chair, the writing-table and the divan. He would cry and toss about,
+entreating, calling for help, while they would speak among themselves
+in their own language, and then would lead him to the scaffold,—they,
+the cupboard, the chair, the writing-table and the divan. And the other
+objects would look on.
+
+To Vasily Kashirin, who was condemned to death by hanging, everything
+now seemed like children’s playthings: his cell, the door with the
+peephole, the strokes of the wound-up clock, the carefully molded
+fortress, and especially that mechanical puppet with the gun who
+stamped his feet in the corridor, and the others who, frightening him,
+peeped into his cell through the little window and handed him the food
+in silence. And that which he was experiencing was not the fear of
+death; death was now rather welcome to him. Death with all its eternal
+mysteriousness and incomprehensibility was more acceptable to his
+reason than this strangely and fantastically changed world. What is
+more, death seemed to have been destroyed completely in this insane
+world of phantoms and puppets, having lost its great and enigmatic
+significance, becoming something mechanical and only for that reason
+terrible. He would be seized, taken, led, hanged, pulled by the feet,
+the rope would be cut, he would be taken down, carried off and buried.
+
+And the man would have disappeared from the world.
+
+At the trial the nearness of his comrades brought Kashirin to himself.
+For an instant he imagined he saw real people; they were sitting and
+trying him, speaking like human beings, listening, apparently
+understanding him. But as he mentally rehearsed the meeting with his
+mother he clearly felt with the terror of a man who is beginning to
+lose his reason and who realizes it, that this old woman in the black
+little kerchief was only an artificial, mechanical puppet, of the kind
+that can say “pa-pa,” “ma-ma,” but somewhat better constructed. He
+tried to speak to her, while thinking at the same time with a shudder:
+
+“O Lord! That is a puppet. A mother doll. And there is a
+soldier-puppet, and there, at home, is a father-puppet, and this is the
+puppet of Vasily Kashirin.”
+
+It seemed to him that in another moment he would hear somewhere the
+creaking of the mechanism, the screeching of unoiled wheels. When his
+mother began to cry, something human again flashed for an instant, but
+at the very first words it disappeared again, and it was interesting
+and terrible to see that water was flowing from the eyes of the doll.
+
+Then, in his cell, when the terror had become unbearable, Vasily
+Kashirin attempted to pray. Of all that had surrounded his childhood
+days in his father’s house under the guise of religion only a
+repulsive, bitter and irritating sediment remained; but faith there was
+none. But once, perhaps in his earliest childhood, he had heard a few
+words which had filled him with palpitating emotion and which remained
+during all his life enwrapped with tender poetry. These words were:
+
+“The joy of all the afflicted...”
+
+It had happened, during painful periods in his life, that he whispered
+to himself, not in prayer, without being definitely conscious of it,
+these words: “The joy of all the afflicted”—and suddenly he would feel
+relieved and a desire would come over him to go to some dear friend and
+question gently:
+
+“Our life—is this life? Eh, my dearest, is this life?”
+
+And then suddenly it would appear laughable to him and he would feel
+like mussing up his hair, putting forth his knee and thrusting out his
+chest as though to receive heavy blows; saying: “Here, strike!”
+
+He did not tell anybody, not even his nearest comrades, about his “joy
+of all the afflicted” and it was as though he himself did not know
+about it,—so deeply was it hidden in his soul. He recalled it but
+rarely and cautiously.
+
+Now when the terror of the insoluble mystery, which appeared so plainly
+before him, enveloped him completely, even as the water in high-flood
+covers the willow twigs on the shore,—a desire came upon him to pray.
+He felt like kneeling, but he was ashamed of the soldier and, folding
+his arms on his chest, he whispered softly:
+
+“The joy of all the afflicted!”
+
+And he repeated tenderly, in anguish:
+
+“Joy of all the afflicted, come to me, help Vaska Kashirin.”
+
+“Long ago, while he was yet in his first term at the university and
+used to go off on a spree sometimes, before he had made the
+acquaintance of Werner and before he had entered the organization, he
+used then to call himself half-boastingly, half-pityingly, “Vaska
+Kashirin,”—and now for some reason or other he suddenly felt like
+calling himself by the same name again. But the words had a dead and
+toneless sound.
+
+“The joy of all the afflicted!”
+
+Something stirred. It was as though some one’s calm and mournful image
+had flashed up in the distance and died out quietly, without
+illuminating the deathly gloom. The wound-up clock in the steeple
+struck. The soldier in the corridor made a noise with his gun or with
+his saber and he yawned, slowly, at intervals.
+
+“Joy of all the afflicted! You are silent! Will you not say anything to
+Vaska Kashirin?”
+
+He smiled patiently and waited. All was empty within his soul and about
+him. And the calm, mournful image did not reappear. He recalled,
+painfully and unnecessarily, wax candles burning; the priest in his
+vestments; the _ikon_ painted on the wall. He recalled his father,
+bending and stretching himself, praying and bowing to the ground, while
+looking sidewise to see whether Vaska was praying, or whether he was
+planning some mischief. And a feeling of still greater terror came over
+Vasily than before the prayer.
+
+Everything now disappeared.
+
+Madness came crawling painfully. His consciousness was dying out like
+an extinguishing bonfire, growing icy like the corpse of a man who had
+just died, whose heart is still warm but whose hands and feet had
+already become stiffened with cold. His dying reason flared up as red
+as blood again and said that he, Vasily Kashirin, might perhaps become
+insane here, suffer pains for which there is no name, reach a degree of
+anguish and suffering that had never been experienced by a single
+living being; that he might beat his head against the wall, pick his
+eyes out with his fingers, speak and shout whatever he pleased, that he
+might plead with tears that he could endure it no longer,—and nothing
+would happen. Nothing could happen.
+
+And nothing happened. His feet, which had a consciousness and life of
+their own, continued to walk and to carry his trembling, moist body.
+His hands, which had a consciousness of their own, endeavored in vain
+to fasten the coat which was open at his chest and to warm his
+trembling, moist body. His body quivered with cold. His eyes stared.
+And this was calm itself embodied.
+
+But there was one more moment of wild terror. That was when people
+entered his cell. He did not even imagine that this visit meant that it
+was time to go to the execution; he simply saw the people and was
+frightened like a child.
+
+“I will not do it! I will not do it!” he whispered inaudibly with his
+livid lips and silently retreated to the depth of the cell, even as in
+childhood he shrank when his father lifted his hand.
+
+“We must start.”
+
+The people were speaking, walking around him, handing him something. He
+closed his eyes, he shook a little,—and began to dress himself slowly.
+His consciousness must have returned to him, for he suddenly asked the
+official for a cigarette. And the official generously opened his silver
+cigarette-case upon which was a chased figure in the style of the
+decadents.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X THE WALLS ARE FALLING
+
+The unidentified man, who called himself Werner, was tired of life and
+struggle. There was a time when he loved life very dearly, when he
+enjoyed the theater, literature and social intercourse. Endowed with an
+excellent memory and a firm will, he had mastered several European
+languages and could easily pass for a German, a Frenchman or an
+Englishman. He usually spoke German with a Bavarian accent, but when he
+felt like it, he could speak like a born Berliner. He was fond of
+dress, his manners were excellent and he alone, of all the members of
+the organization, dared attend the balls given in high society, without
+running the risk of being recognized as an outsider.
+
+But for a long time, altogether unnoticed by his comrades, there had
+ripened in his soul a dark contempt for mankind; contempt mingled with
+despair and painful, almost deadly fatigue. By nature rather a
+mathematician than a poet, he had not known until now any inspiration,
+any ecstasy and at times he felt like a madman, looking for the
+squaring of a circle in pools of human blood. The enemy against whom he
+struggled every day could not inspire him with respect. It was a dense
+net of stupidity, treachery and falsehood, vile insults and base
+deceptions. The last incident which seemed to have destroyed in him
+forever the desire to live, was the murder of the provocateur which he
+had committed by order of the organization. He had killed him in cold
+blood, but when he saw that dead, deceitful, now calm, and after all
+pitiful, human face, he suddenly ceased to respect himself and his
+work. Not that he was seized with a feeling of repentance, but he
+simply stopped appreciating himself. He became uninteresting to
+himself, unimportant, a dull stranger. But being a man of strong,
+unbroken will-power, he did not leave the organization. He remained
+outwardly the same as before, only there was something cold, yet
+painful in his eyes. He never spoke to anyone of this.
+
+He possessed another rare quality: just as there are people who have
+never known headaches, so Werner had never known fear. When other
+people were afraid, he looked upon them without censure but also
+without any particular compassion, just as upon a rather contagious
+illness from which, however, he himself had never suffered. He felt
+sorry for his comrades, especially for Vasya Kashirin; but that was a
+cold, almost official pity, which even some of the judges may have felt
+at times.
+
+Werner understood that the execution was not merely death, that it was
+something different,—but he resolved to face it calmly, as something
+not to be considered; to live until the end as if nothing had happened
+and as if nothing could happen. Only in this way could he express his
+greatest contempt for capital punishment and preserve his last freedom
+of the spirit which could not be torn away from him. At the trial—and
+even his comrades who knew well his cold, haughty fearlessness would
+perhaps not have believed this,—he thought neither of death nor of
+life,—but concentrated his attention deeply and coolly upon a difficult
+chess game which he was playing. A superior chess player, he had
+started this game on the first day of his imprisonment and continued it
+uninterruptedly. Even the sentence condemning him to death by hanging
+did not remove a single figure from his imaginary chessboard.
+
+Even the knowledge that he would not be able to finish this game, did
+not stop him; and the morning of the last day that he was to remain on
+earth he started by correcting a not altogether successful move he had
+made on the previous day. Clasping his lowered hands between his knees,
+he sat for a long time motionless, then he rose and began to walk,
+meditating. His walk was peculiar: he leaned the upper part of his body
+slightly forward and stamped the ground with his heels firmly and
+distinctly. His steps usually left deep, plain imprints even on dry
+ground. He whistled softly, in one breath, a simple Italian melody,
+which helped his meditation.
+
+But this time for some reason or other the thing did not work well.
+With an unpleasant feeling that he had made some important, even grave
+blunder, he went back several times and examined the game almost from
+the beginning. He found no blunder, yet the feeling about a blunder
+committed not only failed to leave him, but even grew ever more intense
+and unpleasant. Suddenly an unexpected and offensive thought came into
+his mind: Did the blunder perhaps consist in his playing chess simply
+because he wanted to distract his attention from the execution and thus
+shield himself against the fear of death which is apparently inevitable
+in every person condemned to death?
+
+“No. What for?” he answered coldly and closed calmly his imaginary
+chessboard. And with the same concentration with which he had played
+chess, he tried to give himself an account of the horror and the
+helplessness of his situation. As though he were going through a strict
+examination, he looked over the cell, trying not to let anything
+escape. He counted the hours that remained until the execution, made
+for himself an approximate and quite exact picture of the execution
+itself and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“Well?” he said to some one half-questioningly. “Here it is. Where is
+the fear?”
+
+Indeed there was no fear. Not only was it not there, but something
+entirely different, the reverse of fear, developed—a sensation of
+confused, but enormous and savage joy. And the error, which he had not
+yet discovered, no longer called forth in him vexation or
+irritation,—it seemed to speak loudly of something good and unexpected,
+as though he had believed a dear friend of his to be dead, and that
+friend turned out to be alive, safe and sound and laughing.
+
+Werner again shrugged his shoulders and felt his pulse,—his heart was
+beating faster than usual, but soundly and evenly, with a specially
+ringing throb. He looked about once more, attentively, like a novice
+for the first time in prison,—examined the walls, the bolts, the chair
+which was screwed to the floor, and thought:
+
+“Why do I feel so easy, so joyous and free? Yes, so free? I think of
+the execution to-morrow—and I feel as though it is not there. I look at
+the walls—and I feel as though they are not here, either. And I feel so
+free, as though I were not in prison, but had just come out of some
+prison where I had spent all my life. What does this mean?”
+
+His hands began to tremble,—something Werner had not experienced
+before. His thoughts fluttered ever more furiously. It was as if
+tongues of fire had flashed up in his mind, and the fire wanted to
+burst forth and illumine the distance which was still dark as night.
+Now the light pierced through and the widely illuminated distance began
+to shine.
+
+The fatigue that had tormented Werner during the last two years had
+disappeared; the dead, cold, heavy serpent with its closed eyes and
+mouth clinched in death, had fallen away from his breast. Before the
+face of death, beautiful Youth came back to him physically. Indeed, it
+was more than beautiful Youth. With that wonderful clarity of the
+spirit which in rare moments comes over man and lifts him to the
+loftiest peaks of meditation, Werner suddenly perceived both life and
+death, and he was awed by the splendor of the unprecedented spectacle.
+It seemed to him that he was walking along the highest mountain-ridge,
+which was narrow like the blade of a knife, and on one side he saw
+Life, on the other side—Death,—like two sparkling, deep, beautiful
+seas, blending in one boundless, broad surface at the horizon.
+
+“What is this? What a divine spectacle!” he said slowly, rising
+involuntarily and straightening himself, as if in the presence of a
+supreme being. And destroying the walls, space and time with the
+impetuosity of his all-penetrating look, he cast a wide glance
+somewhere into the depth of the life he was to forsake.
+
+And life appeared to him in a new light. He did not strive, as before,
+to clothe in words that which he had seen; nor were there such words in
+the still poor, meager human language. That small, cynical and evil
+feeling which had called forth in him a contempt for mankind and at
+times even an aversion for the sight of a human face, had disappeared
+completely. Thus, for a man who goes up in an airship, the filth and
+litter of the narrow streets disappear and that which was ugly becomes
+beautiful.
+
+Unconsciously Werner stepped over to the table and leaned his right
+hand on it. Proud and commanding by nature, he had never before assumed
+such a proud, free, commanding pose, had never turned his head and
+never looked as he did now,—for he had never yet been as free and
+dominant as he was here in the prison, with but a few hours from
+execution and death.
+
+Now men seemed new to him,—they appeared amiable and charming to his
+clarified vision. Soaring over time, he saw clearly how young mankind
+was, that but yesterday it had been howling like a beast in the
+forests; and that which had seemed to him terrible in human beings,
+unpardonable and repulsive, suddenly became very dear to him,—like the
+inability of a child to walk as grown people do, like a child’s
+unconnected lisping, flashing with sparks of genius; like a child’s
+comical blunders, errors and painful bruises.
+
+“My dear people!” Werner suddenly smiled and at once lost all that was
+imposing in his pose; he again became a prisoner who finds his cell
+narrow and uncomfortable under lock, and he was tired of the annoying,
+searching eye staring at him through the peephole in the door. And,
+strange to say, almost instantly he forgot all that he had seen a
+little while before so clearly and distinctly; and, what is still
+stranger, he did not even make an effort to recall it. He simply sat
+down as comfortably as possible, without the usual stiffness of his
+body, and surveyed the walls and the bars with a faint and gentle,
+strange, un-Werner-like smile. Still another new thing happened to
+Werner,—something that had never happened to him before: he suddenly
+started to weep.
+
+“My dear comrades!” he whispered, crying bitterly. “My dear comrades!”
+
+By what mysterious ways did he change from the feeling of proud and
+boundless freedom to this tender and passionate compassion? He did not
+know, nor did he think of it. Did he pity his dear comrades, or did his
+tears conceal something else, a still loftier and more passionate
+feeling?—His suddenly revived and rejuvenated heart did not know this
+either. He wept and whispered:
+
+“My dear comrades! My dear, dear comrades!”
+
+In this man, who was bitterly weeping and smiling through tears, no one
+could have recognized the cold and haughty, weary, yet daring
+Werner—neither the judges, nor the comrades, nor even he himself.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI ON THE WAY TO THE SCAFFOLD
+
+Before placing the condemned people in coaches, all five were brought
+together in a large cold room with a vaulted ceiling, which resembled
+an office, where people worked no longer, or a deserted waiting-room.
+They were now permitted to speak to one another.
+
+Only Tanya Kovalchuk availed herself at once of the permission. The
+others firmly and silently shook each other’s hands, which were as cold
+as ice and as hot as fire,—and silently, trying not to look at each
+other, they crowded together in an awkward, absent-minded group. Now
+that they were together, they felt somewhat ashamed of what each of
+them had experienced when alone; and they were afraid to look, so as
+not to notice or to show that new, peculiar, somewhat shameful
+sensation that each of them felt or suspected the others of feeling.
+
+But after a short silence they glanced at each other, smiled and
+immediately began to feel at ease and unrestrained, as before. No
+change seemed to have occurred, and if it had occurred, it had come so
+gently over all of them that it could not be discerned in any one
+separately. All spoke and moved about strangely: abruptly, by jolts,
+either too fast or too slowly. Sometimes they seemed to choke with
+their words and repeated them a number of times; sometimes they did not
+finish a phrase they had started, or thought they had finished—they did
+not notice it. They all blinked their eyes and examined ordinary
+objects curiously, not recognizing them, like people who had worn
+eye-glasses and had suddenly taken them off; and all of them frequently
+turned around abruptly, as though some one behind them was calling them
+all the time and showing them something. But they did not notice this,
+either. Musya’s and Tanya Kovalchuk’s cheeks and ears were burning;
+Sergey was at first somewhat pale, but he soon recovered and looked as
+he always did.
+
+Only Vasily attracted everybody’s attention. Even among them, he looked
+strange and terrible. Werner became agitated and said to Musya in a low
+voice, with tender anxiety:
+
+“What does this mean, Musyechka? Is it possible that he—— What? I must
+go to him.”
+
+Vasily looked at Werner from the distance, as though not recognizing
+him, and he lowered his eyes.
+
+“Vasya, what have you done with your hair? What is the matter with you?
+Never mind, my dear, never mind, it will soon be over. We must keep up,
+we must, we must.”
+
+Vasily was silent. But when it seemed that he would no longer say
+anything, a dull, belated, terribly remote answer came—like an answer
+from the grave:
+
+“I’m all right. I hold my own.”
+
+Then he repeated:
+
+“I hold my own.”
+
+Werner was delighted.
+
+“That’s the way, that’s the way. Good boy. That’s the way.”
+
+But his eyes met Vasily’s dark, wearied glance fixed upon him from the
+distance and he thought with instant sorrow: “From where is he looking?
+From where is he speaking?” and with profound tenderness, with which
+people address a grave, he said:
+
+“Vasya, do you hear? I love you very much.”
+
+“So do I love you very much,” answered the tongue, moving with
+difficulty.
+
+Suddenly Musya took Werner by the hand and with an expression of
+surprise, she said like an actress on the stage, with measured
+emphasis:
+
+“Werner, what is this? You said, ‘I love’? You never before said ‘I
+love’ to anybody. And why are you all so—tender and serene? Why?”
+
+“Why?”
+
+And like an actor, also accentuating what he felt, Werner pressed
+Musya’s hand firmly:
+
+“Yes, now I love very much. Don’t tell it to the others,—it isn’t
+necessary, I feel somewhat ashamed, but I love deeply.”
+
+Their eyes met and flashed up brightly, and everything about them
+seemed to have plunged in darkness. It is thus that in the flash of
+lightning all other lights are instantly darkened and the heavy yellow
+flame casts a shadow upon earth.
+
+“Yes,” said Musya, “yes, Werner.”
+
+“Yes,” he answered, “yes, Musya, yes.”
+
+They understood each other and something was firmly settled between
+them at this moment. And his eyes glistening, Werner again became
+agitated and quickly stepped over to Sergey.
+
+“Seryozha!”
+
+But Tanya Kovalchuk answered. Almost crying with maternal pride, she
+tugged Sergey frantically by the sleeve.
+
+“Listen, Werner! I am crying here for him, I am wearing myself to
+death, and he is occupying himself with gymnastics!”
+
+“According to the Müller system?” smiled Werner.
+
+Sergey knit his brow confusedly.
+
+“You needn’t laugh, Werner. I have convinced myself conclusively—”
+
+All began to laugh. Drawing strength and courage from one another, they
+gradually regained their poise—became the same as they used to be. They
+did not notice this, however, and thought that they had never changed
+at all. Suddenly Werner interrupted their laughter and said to Sergey
+very earnestly:
+
+“You are right, Seryozha. You are perfectly right.”
+
+“No, but you must understand,” said Golovin gladly. “Of course, we—”
+
+But at this point they were asked to start. And their jailers were so
+kind as to permit them to ride in pairs, as they pleased. Altogether
+the jailers were extremely kind; even too kind. It was as if they tried
+partly to show themselves humane and partly to show that they were not
+there at all, but that everything was being done as by machinery. But
+they were all pale.
+
+“Musya, you go with him.” Werner pointed at Vasily, who stood
+motionless.
+
+“I understand,” Musya nodded. “And you?”
+
+“I? Tanya will go with Sergey, you go with Vasya.... I will go alone.
+That doesn’t matter, I can do it, you know.”
+
+When they went out in the yard, the moist, soft darkness rushed warmly
+and strongly against their faces, their eyes, taking their breath away,
+then suddenly it penetrated their bodies tenderly and refreshingly. It
+was hard to believe that this wonderful effect was produced simply by
+the spring wind, the warm, moist wind. And the really wonderful spring
+night was filled with the odor of melting snow, and through the
+boundless space the noise of drops resounded. Hastily and frequently,
+as though trying to overtake one another, little drops were falling,
+striking in unison a ringing tune. Suddenly one of them would strike
+out of tune and all was mingled in a merry splash in hasty confusion.
+Then a large, heavy drop would strike firmly and again the fast, spring
+melody resounded distinctly. And over the city, above the roofs of the
+fortress, hung a pale redness in the sky reflected by the electric
+lights.
+
+“U-ach!” Sergey Golovin heaved a deep sigh and held his breath, as
+though he regretted to exhale from his lungs the fine, fresh air.
+
+“How long have you had such weather?” inquired Werner. “It’s real
+spring.”
+
+“It’s only the second day,” was the polite answer. “Before that we had
+mostly frosty weather.”
+
+The dark carriages rolled over noiselessly one after another, took them
+in by twos, started off into the darkness—there where the lantern was
+shaking at the gate. The convoys like gray silhouettes surrounded each
+carriage; the horseshoes struck noisily against the ground, or plashed
+upon the melting snow.
+
+When Werner bent down, about to climb into the carriage, the gendarme
+whispered to him:
+
+“There is somebody else going along with you.”
+
+Werner was surprised.
+
+“Where? Where is he going? Oh, yes! Another one? Who is he?”
+
+The gendarme was silent. Indeed, in a dark corner a small, motionless
+but living figure pressed close to the side of the carriage. By the
+reflection of the lantern Werner noticed the flash of an open eye.
+Seating himself, Werner pushed his foot against the other man’s knee.
+
+“Excuse me, comrade.”
+
+The man made no reply. It was only when the carriage started, that he
+suddenly asked in broken Russian, speaking with difficulty:
+
+“Who are you?”
+
+“I am Werner, condemned to hanging for the attempt upon N—. And you?”
+
+“I am Yanson. They must not hang me.”
+
+They were riding thus in order to appear two hours later face to face
+before the inexplicable great mystery, in order to pass from Life to
+Death—and they were introducing each other. Life and Death moved
+simultaneously, and until the very end Life remained life, to the most
+ridiculous and insipid trifles.
+
+“What have you done, Yanson?”
+
+“I killed my master with a knife. I stole money.”
+
+It seemed from the tone of his voice that Yanson was falling asleep.
+Werner found his flabby hand in the darkness and pressed it. Yanson
+withdrew it drowsily.
+
+“Are you afraid?” asked Werner.
+
+“I don’t want to be hanged.”
+
+They became silent. Werner again found the Esthonian’s hand and pressed
+it firmly between his dry, burning palms. Yanson’s hand lay motionless,
+like a board, but he made no longer any effort to withdraw it.
+
+It was close and suffocating in the carriage. The air was filled with
+the smell of soldiers’ clothes, mustiness, and the leather of wet
+boots. The young gendarme who sat opposite Werner breathed warmly upon
+him, and in his breath there was the odor of onions and cheap tobacco.
+But some brisk, fresh air came in through certain clefts, and because
+of this, spring was felt even more intensely in this small, stifling,
+moving box, than outside. The carriage kept turning now to the right,
+now to the left, now it seemed to turn back. At times it seemed as
+though they had been turning around on one and the same spot for hours
+for some reason or other. At first a bluish electric light penetrated
+through the lowered, heavy window shades; then suddenly, after a
+certain turn it grew dark, and only by this could they guess that they
+had turned into deserted streets in the outskirts of the city and that
+they were nearing the S. railroad station. Sometimes during sharp
+turns, Werner’s live, bent knee would strike against the live, bent
+knee of the gendarme, and it was hard to believe that the execution was
+approaching.
+
+“Where are we going?” Yanson asked suddenly. He was somewhat dizzy from
+the continuous turning of the dark box and he felt slightly sick at his
+stomach.
+
+Werner answered and pressed the Esthonian’s hand more firmly. He felt
+like saying something especially kind and caressing to this little,
+sleepy man, and he already loved him as he had never loved anyone in
+his life.
+
+“You don’t seem to sit comfortably, my dear man. Move over here, to
+me.”
+
+Yanson was silent for awhile, then he replied:
+
+“Well, thank you. I’m sitting all right. Are they going to hang you
+too?”
+
+“Yes,” answered Werner, almost laughing with unexpected jollity, and he
+waved his hand easily and freely, as though he were speaking of some
+absurd and trifling joke which kind but terribly comical people wanted
+to play on him.
+
+“Have you a wife?” asked Yanson.
+
+“No. I have no wife. I am single.”
+
+“I am also alone. Alone,” said Yanson.
+
+Werner’s head also began to feel dizzy. And at times it seemed that
+they were going to some festival; strange to say, almost all those who
+went to the scaffold experienced the same sensation and mingled with
+sorrow and fear there was a vague joy as they anticipated the
+extraordinary thing that was soon to befall them. Reality was
+intoxicated with madness and Death, united with Life, brought forth
+apparitions. It seemed very possible that flags were waving over the
+houses.
+
+“We have arrived!” said Werner gayly when the carriage stopped, and he
+jumped out easily. But with Yanson it was a rather slow affair:
+silently and very drowsily he resisted and would not come out. He
+seized the knob. The gendarme opened the weak fingers and pulled his
+hand away. Then Yanson seized the corner of the carriage, the door, the
+high wheel, but immediately let it go upon the slightest effort on the
+part of the gendarme. He did not exactly seize these things; he rather
+cleaved to each object sleepily and silently, and was torn away easily,
+without any effort. Finally he got up.
+
+There were no flags. The railroad station was dark, deserted and
+lifeless; the passenger trains were not running any longer, and the
+train which was silently waiting for these passengers on the way needed
+no bright light, no commotion. Suddenly Werner began to feel weary. It
+was not fear, nor anguish, but a feeling of enormous, painful,
+tormenting weariness which makes one feel like going off somewhere,
+lying down and closing one’s eyes very tightly. Werner stretched
+himself and yawned slowly. Yanson also stretched himself and quickly
+yawned several times.
+
+“I wish they’d be quicker about it,” said Werner wearily. Yanson was
+silent, shrinking together.
+
+When the condemned moved along the deserted platform which was
+surrounded by soldiers, to the dimly lighted cars, Werner found himself
+near Sergey Golovin; Sergey, pointing with his hand somewhere aside,
+began to say something, but only the word “lantern” was heard
+distinctly, and the rest was drowned in slow and weary yawning.
+
+“What did you say?” asked Werner, also yawning.
+
+“The lantern. The lamp in the lantern is smoking,” said Sergey. Werner
+looked around. Indeed, the lamp in the lantern was smoking very much,
+and the glass had already turned black on top.
+
+“Yes, it is smoking.”
+
+Suddenly he thought: “What have I to do with the smoking of the lamp,
+since——”
+
+Sergey apparently thought the same, as he glanced quickly at Werner and
+turned away. But both stopped yawning.
+
+They all went to the cars themselves, only Yanson had to be led by the
+arms. At first he stamped his feet and his boots seemed to stick to the
+boards of the platform. Then he bent his knees and fell into the arms
+of the gendarmes, his feet dangled like those of a very intoxicated
+man, and the tips of the boots scraped against the wood. It took a long
+time until he was silently pushed through the door.
+
+Vasily Kashirin also moved himself, unconsciously imitating the
+movements of his comrades—he did everything as they did. But on
+boarding the platform of the car, he stumbled, and a gendarme took him
+by the elbow to support him. Vasily shuddered and screamed shrilly,
+drawing back his arm:
+
+“Ai!”
+
+“What is it, Vasya?” Werner rushed over to him. Vasily was silent,
+trembling in every limb. The confused and even offended gendarme
+explained:
+
+“I wanted to keep him from falling, and he—”
+
+“Come, Vasya, let me hold you,” said Werner, about to take him by the
+arm. But Vasily drew back his arm again and cried more loudly than
+before:
+
+“Ai!”
+
+“Vasya, it is I, Werner.”
+
+“I know. Don’t touch me. I’ll go myself.”
+
+And continuing to tremble he entered the car himself and seated himself
+in a corner. Bending over to Musya, Werner asked her softly, pointing
+with his eyes at Vasily:
+
+“How about him?”
+
+“Bad,” answered Musya, also in a soft voice. “He is dead already.
+Werner, tell me, is there such a thing as death?”
+
+“I don’t know, Musya, but I think that there is no such thing,” replied
+Werner seriously and thoughtfully.
+
+“That’s what I have thought. But he? I was tortured with him in the
+carriage—it was like riding with a corpse.”
+
+“I don’t know, Musya. Perhaps there is such a thing as death for some
+people. Meanwhile, perhaps, but later there will be no death. For me
+death also existed before, but now it exists no longer.”
+
+Musya’s somewhat paled cheeks flushed as she asked:
+
+“It did exist, Werner? It did?”
+
+“It did. But not now any longer. Just the same as with you.”
+
+A noise was heard in the doorway of the car. Mishka Tsiganok entered,
+stamping noisily with his heels, breathing loudly and spitting. He cast
+a swift glance and stopped obdurately.
+
+“No room here, gendarme!” he shouted to the tired gendarme who looked
+at him angrily. “You make it so that I am comfortable here, otherwise I
+won’t go—hang me here on the lamp-post. What a carriage they gave me,
+dogs! Is that a carriage? It’s the devil’s belly, not a carriage!”
+
+But suddenly he bent down his head, stretched out his neck and thus
+went forward to the others. Out of the disheveled frame of hair and
+beard his black eyes looked wildly and sharply with an almost insane
+expression.
+
+“Ah, gentlemen!” he drawled out. “So that’s what it is. Hello, master!”
+
+He thrust his hand to Werner and sat down opposite him. And bending
+closely over to him, he winked one eye and quickly passed his hand over
+his throat.
+
+“You, too? What?”
+
+“Yes!” smiled Werner.
+
+“Are all of us to be hanged?”
+
+“All.”
+
+“Oho!” Tsiganok grinned, showing his teeth, and quickly felt everybody
+with his eyes, stopping for an instant longer on Musya and Yanson. Then
+he winked again to Werner.
+
+“The Minister?”
+
+“Yes, the Minister. And you?”
+
+“I am here for something else, master. People like me don’t deal with
+ministers. I am a murderer, master, that’s what I am. An ordinary
+murderer. Never mind, master, move away a little, I haven’t come into
+your company of my own will. There will be room enough for all of us in
+the other world.”
+
+He surveyed them all with one swift, suspicious, wild glance from under
+his disheveled hair. But all looked at him silently and seriously, even
+with apparent interest. He grinned, showing his teeth, and quickly
+clapped Werner on the knee several times.
+
+“That’s the way, master! How does the song run? ‘Don’t rustle, O green
+little mother forest....’”
+
+“Why do you call me ‘master,’ since we are all going—”
+
+“Correct,” Tsiganok agreed with satisfaction. “What kind of master are
+you, if you are going to hang right beside me? There is a master for
+you”; and he pointed with his finger at the silent gendarme. “Eh, that
+fellow there is not worse than our kind”; he pointed with his eyes at
+Vasily. “Master! Eh there, master! You’re afraid, aren’t you?”
+
+“No,” answered the heavy tongue.
+
+“Never mind that ‘No.’ Don’t be ashamed; there’s nothing to be ashamed
+of. Only a dog wags his tail and snarls when he is taken to be hanged,
+but you are a man. Who is that dope? He isn’t one of you, is he?”
+
+He darted his glance rapidly about, and hissing, kept spitting
+continuously. Yanson, curled up into a motionless bundle, pressed
+closely into the corner. The flaps of his outworn fur cap stirred, but
+he maintained silence. Werner answered for him:
+
+“He killed his employer.”
+
+“O Lord!” wondered Tsiganok. “Why are such people allowed to kill?”
+
+For some time Tsiganok had been looking sideways at Musya; now turning
+quickly, he stared at her sharply, straight into her face.
+
+“Young lady, young lady! What about you? Her cheeks are rosy and she is
+laughing. Look, she is really laughing,” he said, clasping Werner’s
+knee with his clutching, iron-like fingers. “Look, look!”
+
+Reddening, smiling confusedly, Musya also gazed straight into his sharp
+and wildly searching eyes.
+
+The wheels rattled fast and noisily. The small cars kept hopping along
+the narrow rails. Now at a curve or at a crossing the small engine
+whistled shrilly and carefully—the engineer was afraid lest he might
+run over somebody. It was strange to think that so much humane
+painstaking care and exertion was being introduced into the business of
+hanging people; that the most insane deed on earth was being committed
+with such an air of simplicity and reasonableness. The cars were
+running, and human beings sat in them as people always do, and they
+rode as people usually ride; and then there would be a halt, as usual.
+
+“The train will stop for five minutes.”
+
+And there death would be waiting—eternity—the great mystery.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII THEY ARE HANGED
+
+The little cars ran on carefully.
+
+Sergey Golovin at one time had lived for several years with his
+relatives at their country-house, along this very road. He had traveled
+upon it by day as well as by night, and he knew it well. He closed his
+eyes, and thought that he might now simply be returning home—that he
+had stayed out late in the city with acquaintances, and was now coming
+back on the last train.
+
+“We will soon he there,” he said, opening his eyes and looking out of
+the grated, mute window.
+
+Nobody stirred, nobody answered; only Tsiganok spat quickly several
+times and his eyes ran over the car, as though feeling the windows, the
+doors, the soldiers.
+
+“It’s cold,” said Vasily Kashirin, his lips closed tightly, as though
+really frozen; and his words sounded strangely.
+
+Tanya Kovalchuk began to bustle about.
+
+“Here’s a handkerchief. Tie it about your neck. It’s a very warm one.”
+
+“Around the neck?” Sergey asked suddenly, startled by his own question.
+But as the same thing occurred to all of them, no one seemed to hear
+him. It was as if nothing had been said, or as if they had all said the
+same thing at the same time.
+
+“Never mind, Vasya, tie it about your neck. It will be warmer,” Werner
+advised him. Then he turned to Yanson and asked gently:
+
+“And you, friend, are you cold?”
+
+“Werner, perhaps he wants to smoke. Comrade, perhaps you would like to
+smoke?” asked Musya. “We have something to smoke.”
+
+“I do.”
+
+“Give him a cigarette, Seryozha,” said Werner delightedly. But Sergey
+was already getting out a cigarette. All looked on with friendliness,
+watching how Yanson’s fingers took the cigarette, how the match flared,
+and then how the blue smoke issued from Yanson’s mouth.
+
+“Thanks,” said Yanson; “it’s good.”
+
+“How strange!” said Sergey.
+
+“What is strange?” Werner turned around. “What is strange?”
+
+“I mean—the cigarette.”
+
+Yanson held a cigarette, an ordinary cigarette, in his ordinary live
+hands, and, pale-faced, looked at it with surprise, even with terror.
+And all fixed their eyes upon the little tube, from the end of which
+smoke was issuing, like a bluish ribbon, wafted aside by the breathing,
+with the ashes, gathering, turning black. The light went out.
+
+“The light’s out,” said Tanya.
+
+“Yes, the light’s out.”
+
+“Let it go,” said Werner, frowning, looking uneasily at Yanson, whose
+hand, holding the cigarette, was hanging loosely, as if dead. Suddenly
+Tsiganok turned quickly, bent over to Werner, close to him, face to
+face, and rolling the whites of his eyes, like a horse, whispered:
+
+“Master, how about the convoys? Suppose we—eh? Shall we try?”
+
+“No, don’t do it,” Werner replied, also in a whisper. “We shall drink
+it to the bitter end.”
+
+“Why not? It’s livelier in a fight! Eh? I strike him, he strikes me,
+and you don’t even know how the thing is done. It’s just as if you
+don’t die at all.”
+
+“No, you shouldn’t do it,” said Werner, and turned to Yanson. “Why
+don’t you smoke, friend?”
+
+Suddenly Yanson’s wizened face became wofully wrinkled, as if somebody
+had pulled strings which set all the wrinkles in motion. And, as in a
+dream, he began to whimper, without tears, in a dry, strained voice:
+
+“I don’t want to smoke. Aha! aha! aha! Why should I be hanged? Aha!
+aha! aha!”
+
+They began to bustle about him. Tanya Kovalchuk, weeping freely, petted
+him on the arm, and adjusted the drooping earlaps of his worn fur cap.
+
+“My dear, do not cry! My own! my dear! Poor, unfortunate little
+fellow!”
+
+Musya looked aside. Tsiganok caught her glance and grinned, showing his
+teeth.
+
+“What a queer fellow! He drinks tea, and yet feels cold,” he said, with
+an abrupt laugh. But suddenly his own face became bluish-black, like
+cast-iron, and his large yellow teeth flashed.
+
+Suddenly the little cars trembled and slackened their speed. All,
+except Yanson and Kashirin, rose and sat down again quickly.
+
+“Here is the station,” said Sergey.
+
+It seemed to them as if all the air had been suddenly pumped out of the
+car, it became so difficult to breathe. The heart grew larger, making
+the chest almost burst, beating in the throat, tossing about
+madly—shouting in horror with its blood-filled voice. And the eyes
+looked upon the quivering floor, and the ears heard how the wheels were
+turning ever more slowly—the wheels slipped and turned again, and then
+suddenly—they stopped.
+
+The train had halted.
+
+Then a dream set in. It was not terrible, rather fantastic, unfamiliar
+to the memory, strange. The dreamer himself seemed to remain aside,
+only his bodiless apparition moved about, spoke soundlessly, walked
+noiselessly, suffered without suffering. As in a dream, they walked out
+of the car, formed into parties of two, inhaled the peculiarly fresh
+spring air of the forest. As in a dream, Yanson resisted bluntly,
+powerlessly, and was dragged out of the car silently.
+
+They descended the steps of the station.
+
+“Are we to walk?” asked some one almost cheerily.
+
+“It isn’t far now,” answered another, also cheerily.
+
+Then they walked in a large, black, silent crowd amid the forest, along
+a rough, wet and soft spring road. From the forest, from the snow, a
+fresh, strong breath of air was wafted. The feet slipped, sometimes
+sinking into the snow, and involuntarily the hands of the comrades
+clung to each other. And the convoys, breathing with difficulty, walked
+over the untouched snow on each side of the road. Some one said in an
+angry voice:
+
+“Why didn’t they clear the road? Did they want us to turn somersaults
+in the snow?”
+
+Some one else apologized guiltily.
+
+“We cleaned it, your Honor. But it is thawing and it can’t be helped.”
+
+Consciousness of what they were doing returned to the prisoners, but
+not completely,—in fragments, in strange parts. Now, suddenly, their
+minds practically admitted:
+
+“It is indeed impossible to clear the road.”
+
+Then again everything died out, and only their sense of smell remained:
+the unbearably fresh smell of the forest and of the melting snow. And
+everything became unusually clear to the consciousness: the forest, the
+night, the road and the fact that soon they would be hanged. Their
+conversation, restrained to whispers, flashed in fragments.
+
+“It is almost four o’clock.”
+
+“I said we started too early.”
+
+“The sun dawns at five.”
+
+“Of course, at five. We should have—”
+
+They stopped in a meadow, in the darkness. A little distance away,
+beyond the bare trees, two small lanterns moved silently. There were
+the gallows.
+
+“I lost one of my rubbers,” said Sergey Golovin.
+
+“Really?” asked Werner, not understanding what he said.
+
+“I lost a rubber. It’s cold.”
+
+“Where’s Vasily?”
+
+“I don’t know. There he is.”
+
+Vasily stood, gloomy, motionless.
+
+“And where is Musya?”
+
+“Here I am. Is that you, Werner?”
+
+They began to look about, avoiding the direction of the gallows, where
+the lanterns continued to move about silently with terrible
+suggestiveness. On the left, the bare forest seemed to be growing
+thinner, and something large and white and flat was visible. A damp
+wind issued from it.
+
+“The sea,” said Sergey Golovin, inhaling the air with nose and mouth.
+“The sea is there!”
+
+Musya answered sonorously:
+
+“My love which is as broad as the sea!”
+
+“What is that, Musya?”
+
+“The banks of life cannot hold my love, which is as broad as the sea.”
+
+“My love which is as broad as the sea,” echoed Sergey, thoughtfully,
+carried away by the sound of her voice and by her words.
+
+“My love which is as broad as the sea,” repeated Werner, and suddenly
+he spoke wonderingly, cheerfully:
+
+“Musya, how young you are!”
+
+Suddenly Tsiganok whispered warmly, out of breath, right into Werner’s
+ear:
+
+“Master! master! There’s the forest! My God! what’s that? There—where
+the lanterns are—are those the gallows? What does it mean?”
+
+Werner looked at him. Tsiganok was writhing in agony before his death.
+
+“We must bid each other good-by,” said Tanya Kovalchuk.
+
+“Wait, they have yet to read the sentence,” answered Werner. “Where is
+Yanson?”
+
+Yanson was lying on the snow, and about him people were busying
+themselves. There was a smell of ammonia in the air.
+
+“Well, what is it, doctor? Will you be through soon?” some one asked
+impatiently.
+
+“It’s nothing. He has simply fainted. Rub his ears with snow! He is
+coming to himself already! You may read the sentence!”
+
+The light of the dark lantern flashed upon the paper and on the white,
+gloveless hands holding it. Both the paper and the hands quivered
+slightly, and the voice also quivered:
+
+“Gentlemen, perhaps it is not necessary to read the sentence to you.
+You know it already. What do you say?”
+
+“Don’t read it,” Werner answered for them all, and the little lantern
+was soon extinguished.
+
+The services of the priest were also declined by them all. Tsiganok
+said:
+
+“Stop your fooling, father—you will forgive me, but they will hang me.
+Go to—where you came from.”
+
+And the dark, broad silhouette of the priest moved back silently and
+quickly and disappeared. Day was breaking: the snow turned whiter, the
+figures of the people became more distinct, and the forest—thinner,
+more melancholy.
+
+“Gentlemen, you must go in pairs. Take your places in pairs as you
+wish, but I ask you to hurry up.”
+
+Werner pointed to Yanson, who was now standing, supported by two
+gendarmes.
+
+“I will go with him. And you, Seryozha, take Vasily. Go ahead.”
+
+“Very well.”
+
+“You and I go together, Musechka, shall we not?” asked Tanya Kovalchuk.
+“Come, let us kiss each other good-by.”
+
+They kissed one another quickly. Tsiganok kissed firmly, so that they
+felt his teeth; Yanson softly, drowsily, with his mouth half open—and
+it seemed that he did not understand what he was doing.
+
+When Sergey Golovin and Kashirin had gone a few steps, Kashirin
+suddenly stopped and said loudly and distinctly:
+
+“Good-by, comrades.”
+
+“Good-by, comrade,” they shouted in answer.
+
+They went off. It grew quiet. The lanterns beyond the trees became
+motionless. They awaited an outcry, a voice, some kind of noise—but it
+was just as quiet there as it was among them—and the yellow lanterns
+were motionless.
+
+“Oh, my God!” some one cried hoarsely and wildly. They looked about. It
+was Tsiganok, writhing in agony at the thought of death. “They are
+hanging!”
+
+They turned away from him, and again it became quiet. Tsiganok was
+writhing, catching at the air with his hands.
+
+“How is that, gentlemen? Am I to go alone? It’s livelier to die
+together. Gentlemen, what does it mean?”
+
+He seized Werner by the hand, his fingers clutching and then relaxing.
+
+“Dear master, at least you come with me? Eh? Do me the favor? Don’t
+refuse.”
+
+Werner answered painfully:
+
+“I can’t, my dear fellow. I am going with him.”
+
+“Oh, my God! Must I go alone, then? My God! How is it to be?”
+
+Musya stepped forward and said softly:
+
+“You may go with me.”
+
+Tsiganok stepped back and rolled the whites of his eyes wildly.
+
+“With you!”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Just think of her! What a little girl! And you’re not afraid? If you
+are, I would rather go alone!”
+
+“No, I am not afraid.”
+
+Tsiganok grinned.
+
+“Just think of her! But do you know that I am a murderer? Don’t you
+despise me? You had better not do it. I shan’t be angry at you.”
+
+Musya was silent, and in the faint light of dawn her face was pale and
+enigmatic. Then suddenly she walked over to Tsiganok quickly, and,
+throwing her arms about his neck, kissed him firmly upon his lips. He
+took her by the shoulders with his fingers, held her away from himself,
+then shook her, and, with loud smacks, kissed her on the lips, on the
+nose, on the eyes.
+
+“Come!”
+
+Suddenly the soldier standing nearest them staggered forward, and
+opening his hands, let his gun drop. He did not stoop down to regain
+it, but stood for an instant motionless, turned abruptly and, like a
+blind man, walked toward the forest over the untouched snow.
+
+“Where are you going?” called out another soldier in fright. “Halt!”
+
+But the man continued walking through the deep snow silently and with
+difficulty. Then he must have stumbled over something, for he waved his
+arms and fell face downward. And there he remained lying on the snow.
+
+“Pick up the gun, you sour-faced gray-coat, or I’ll pick it up,” said
+Tsiganok sternly to the other soldier. “You don’t know your business!”
+
+The little lanterns began to move about busily again. Now it was the
+turn of Werner and Yanson.
+
+“Good-by, master!” called Tsiganok loudly. “We’ll meet each other in
+the other world, you’ll see! Don’t turn away from me. When you see me,
+bring me some water to drink—it will be hot there for me!”
+
+“Good-by!”
+
+“I don’t want to be hanged!” said Yanson drowsily.
+
+Werner took him by the hand, and then the Esthonian walked a few steps
+alone. But later they saw him stop and fall down in the snow. Soldiers
+bent over him, lifted him up and carried him on, and he struggled
+faintly in their arms. Why did he not cry? He must have forgotten even
+that he had a voice.
+
+And again the little yellow lanterns became motionless.
+
+“And I, Musechka,” said Tanya Kovalchuk mournfully, “must I go alone?
+We lived together, and now—”
+
+“Tanechka, dearest—”
+
+But Tsiganok took her part heatedly. Holding her by the hand, as though
+fearing that some one would take her away from him, he said quickly, in
+a business-like manner, to Tanya:
+
+“Ah, young lady, you can go alone! You are a pure soul—you can go alone
+wherever you please! But I—I can’t! A murderer!... Understand? I can’t
+go alone! Where are you going, you murderer? they will ask me. Why, I
+even stole horses, by God! But with her it is just as if—just as if I
+were with an infant, understand? Do you understand me?”
+
+“I do. Go. Come, let me kiss you once more, Musechka.”
+
+“Kiss! Kiss each other!” urged Tsiganok. “That’s a woman’s job! You
+must bid each other a hearty good-by!”
+
+Musya and Tsiganok moved forward. Musya walked cautiously, slipping,
+and by force of habit raising her skirts slightly. And the man led her
+to death firmly, holding her arm carefully and feeling the ground with
+his foot.
+
+The lights stopped moving. It was quiet and lonely around Tanya
+Kovalchuk. The soldiers were silent, all gray in the soft, colorless
+light of daybreak.
+
+“I am alone,” sighed Tanya Kovalchuk suddenly. “Seryozha is dead,
+Werner is dead—and Vasya, too. I am alone! Soldiers! soldiers! I am
+alone, alone—”
+
+The sun was rising over the sea.
+
+The bodies were placed in a box. Then they were taken away. With
+stretched necks, with bulging eyes, with blue, swollen tongues, looking
+like some unknown, terrible flowers between the lips, which were
+covered with bloody foam—the bodies were hurried back along the same
+road by which they had come—alive. And the spring snow was just as soft
+and fresh; the spring air was just as strong and fragrant. And on the
+snow lay Sergey’s black rubber-shoe, wet, trampled under foot.
+
+Thus did men greet the rising sun.
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+
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+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Seven who were Hanged, by Leonid Andreyev
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Seven who were Hanged
+
+Author: Leonid Andreyev
+
+Release Date: June 1, 2009 [EBook #6722]
+Last Updated: September 15, 2019
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SEVEN WHO WERE HANGED ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Eric Eldred, and David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="cover " /><br/><br/>
+</div>
+
+<h1>The Seven who were Hanged</h1>
+
+    <h4>
+      A STORY
+    </h4>
+
+<h2>by Leonid Andreyev</h2>
+
+    <h4>
+      Authorized Translation From The Russian By Herman Bernstein.
+    </h4>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h3>Contents</h3>
+
+<table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+
+<tr>
+<td></td><td> <a href="#chap01">FOREWORD</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td></td><td> <a href="#chap02">INTRODUCTION</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td></td><td> <a href="#chap03">THE SEVEN WHO WERE HANGED</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>CHAPTER I</td><td> <a href="#chap04">AT ONE O&rsquo;CLOCK, YOUR EXCELLENCY!</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>CHAPTER II</td><td> <a href="#chap05">CONDEMNED TO BE HANGED</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>CHAPTER III</td><td> <a href="#chap06">WHY SHOULD I BE HANGED?</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>CHAPTER IV</td><td> <a href="#chap07">WE COME FROM ORYOL</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>CHAPTER V</td><td> <a href="#chap08">KISS&mdash;AND SAY NOTHING</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>CHAPTER VI</td><td> <a href="#chap09">THE HOURS ARE RUSHING</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>CHAPTER VII</td><td> <a href="#chap10">THERE IS NO DEATH</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>CHAPTER VIII</td><td> <a href="#chap11">THERE IS DEATH AS WELL AS LIFE</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>CHAPTER IX</td><td> <a href="#chap12">DREADFUL SOLITUDE</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>CHAPTER X</td><td> <a href="#chap13">THE WALLS ARE FALLING</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>CHAPTER XI</td><td> <a href="#chap14">ON THE WAY TO THE SCAFFOLD</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>CHAPTER XII</td><td> <a href="#chap15">THEY ARE HANGED</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+</table>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:40%;">
+<img src="images/Andreyev.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="Andreyev" /><br/><br/>
+</div>
+
+<h5><b>Leonid Andreyev</b></h5>
+
+<p class="center">
+DEDICATION<br/>
+To Count Leo N. Tolstoy<br/>
+This Book is Dedicated<br/>
+by Leonid Andreyev<br/><br/>
+The Translation of this Story<br/>
+Is Also Respectfully Inscribed to<br/>
+Count Leo N. Tolstoy<br/>
+by Herman Bernstein
+</p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h3><a name="chap01"></a>FOREWORD</h3>
+
+<p>
+Leonid Andreyev, who was born in Oryol, in 1871, is the most popular, and next
+to Tolstoy, the most gifted writer in Russia to-day. Andreyev has written many
+important stories and dramas, the best known among which are &ldquo;Red
+Laughter,&rdquo; &ldquo;Life of Man,&rdquo; &ldquo;To the Stars,&rdquo;
+&ldquo;The Life of Vasily Fiveisky,&rdquo; &ldquo;Eliazar,&rdquo; &ldquo;Black
+Masks,&rdquo; and &ldquo;The Story of the Seven Who Were Hanged.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In &ldquo;Red Laughter&rdquo; he depicted the horrors of war as few men had
+ever before done it. He dipped his pen into the blood of Russia and wrote the
+tragedy of the Manchurian war.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In his &ldquo;Life of Man&rdquo; Andreyev produced a great, imaginative
+&ldquo;morality&rdquo; play which has been ranked by European critics with some
+of the greatest dramatic masterpieces.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The story of &ldquo;The Seven Who Were Hanged&rdquo; is thus far his most
+important achievement. The keen psychological insight and the masterly
+simplicity with which Andreyev has penetrated and depicted each of the
+tragedies of the seven who were hanged place him in the same class as an artist
+with Russia&rsquo;s greatest masters of fiction, Dostoyevsky, Turgenev and
+Tolstoy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I consider myself fortunate to be able to present to the English-reading public
+this remarkable work, which has already produced a profound impression in
+Europe and which, I believe, is destined for a long time to come to play an
+important part in opening the eyes of the world to the horrors perpetrated in
+Russia and to the violence and iniquity of the destruction of human life,
+whatever the error or the crime.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>New York.</i>
+</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+HERMAN BERNSTEIN.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h3><a name="chap02"></a>INTRODUCTION</h3>
+
+<h4> [Translation of the Foregoing Letter in Russian] </h4> <p>
+I am very glad that &ldquo;The Story of the Seven Who Were Hanged&rdquo; will
+be read in English. The misfortune of us all is that we know so little, even
+nothing, about one another&mdash;neither about the soul, nor the life, the
+sufferings, the habits, the inclinations, the aspirations of one another.
+Literature, which I have the honor to serve, is dear to me just because the
+noblest task it sets before itself is that of wiping out boundaries and
+distances.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As in a hard shell, every human being is enclosed in a cover of body, dress,
+and life. Who is man? We may only conjecture. What constitutes his joy or his
+sorrow? We may guess only by his acts, which are oft-times enigmatic; by his
+laughter and by his tears, which are often entirely incomprehensible to us. And
+if we, Russians, who live so closely together in constant misery, understand
+one another so poorly that we mercilessly put to death those who should be
+pitied or even rewarded, and reward those who should be punished by contempt
+and anger&mdash;how much more difficult is it for you Americans, to understand
+distant Russia? But then, it is just as difficult for us Russians to understand
+distant America, of which we dream in our youth and over which we ponder so
+deeply in our years of maturity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Jewish massacres and famine; a Parliament and executions; pillage and the
+greatest heroism; &ldquo;The Black Hundred,&rdquo; and Leo Tolstoy&mdash;what a
+mixture of figures and conceptions, what a fruitful source for all kinds of
+misunderstandings! The truth of life stands aghast in silence, and its brazen
+falsehood is loudly shouting, uttering pressing, painful questions: &ldquo;With
+whom shall I sympathize? Whom shall I trust? Whom shall I love?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the story of &ldquo;The Seven Who Were Hanged&rdquo; I attempted to give a
+sincere and unprejudiced answer to some of these questions.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That I have treated ruling and slaughtering Russia with restraint and mildness
+may best be gathered from the fact that the Russian censor has permitted my
+book to circulate. This is sufficient evidence when we recall how many books,
+brochures and newspapers have found eternal rest in the peaceful shade of the
+police stations, where they have risen to the patient sky in the smoke and
+flame of bonfires.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But I did not attempt to condemn the Government, the fame of whose wisdom and
+virtues has already spread far beyond the boundaries of our unfortunate
+fatherland. Modest and bashful far beyond all measure of her virtues, Russia
+would sincerely wish to forego this honor, but unfortunately the free press of
+America and Europe has not spared her modesty, and has given a sufficiently
+clear picture of her glorious activities. Perhaps I am wrong in this: it is
+possible that many honest people in America believe in the purity of the
+Russian Government&rsquo;s intentions&mdash;but this question is of such
+importance that it requires a special treatment, for which it is necessary to
+have both time and calm of soul. But there is no calm soul in Russia.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+My task was to point out the horror and the iniquity of capital punishment
+under any circumstances. The horror of capital punishment is great when it
+falls to the lot of courageous and honest people whose only guilt is their
+excess of love and the sense of righteousness&mdash;in such instances,
+conscience revolts. But the rope is still more horrible when it forms the noose
+around the necks of weak and ignorant people. And however strange it may
+appear, I look with a lesser grief and suffering upon the execution of the
+revolutionists, such as Werner and Musya, than upon the strangling of ignorant
+murderers, miserable in mind and heart, like Yanson and Tsiganok. Even the last
+mad horror of inevitably approaching execution Werner can offset by his
+enlightened mind and his iron will, and Musya, by her purity and her innocence.
+***
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But how are the weak and the sinful to face it if not in madness, with the most
+violent shock to the very foundation of their souls? And these people, now that
+the Government has steadied its hands through its experience with the
+revolutionists, are being hanged throughout Russia&mdash;in some places one at
+a time, in others, ten at once. Children at play come upon badly buried bodies,
+and the crowds which gather look with horror upon the peasants&rsquo; boots
+that are sticking out of the ground; prosecutors who have witnessed these
+executions are becoming insane and are taken away to hospitals&mdash;while the
+people are being hanged&mdash;being hanged.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I am deeply grateful to you for the task you have undertaken in translating
+this sad story. Knowing the sensitiveness of the American people, who at one
+time sent across the ocean, steamers full of bread for famine-stricken Russia,
+I am convinced that in this case our people in their misery and bitterness will
+also find understanding and sympathy. And if my truthful story about seven of
+the thousands who were hanged will help toward destroying at least one of the
+barriers which separate one nation from another, one human being from another,
+one soul from another soul, I shall consider myself happy.
+
+</p> <p class="right">
+Respectfully yours,<br/>
+LEONID ANDREYEV.
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h3><a name="chap03"></a>THE SEVEN WHO WERE HANGED</h3>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h3><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER I<br/>AT ONE O&rsquo;CLOCK, YOUR
+EXCELLENCY!</h3>
+
+<p>
+As the Minister was a very stout man, inclined to apoplexy, they feared to
+arouse in him any dangerous excitement, and it was with every possible
+precaution that they informed him that a very serious attempt upon his life had
+been planned. When they saw that he received the news calmly, even with a
+smile, they gave him, also, the details. The attempt was to be made on the
+following day at the time that he was to start out with his official report;
+several men, terrorists, whose plans had already been betrayed by a
+<i>provocateur</i>, and who were now under the vigilant surveillance of
+detectives, were to meet at one o&rsquo;clock in the afternoon in front of his
+house, and, armed with bombs and revolvers, were to wait till he came out.
+There the terrorists were to be trapped.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wait!&rdquo; muttered the Minister, perplexed. &ldquo;How did they know
+that I was to leave the house at one o&rsquo;clock in the afternoon with my
+report, when I myself learned of it only the day before yesterday?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief of the Guards stretched out his arms with a shrug.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Exactly at one o&rsquo;clock in the afternoon, your Excellency,&rdquo;
+he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Half surprised, half commending the work of the police, who had managed
+everything skilfully, the Minister shook his head, a morose smile upon his
+thick, dark lips, and still smiling obediently, and not desiring to interfere
+with the plans of the police, he hastily made ready, and went out to pass the
+night in some one else&rsquo;s hospitable palace. His wife and his two children
+were also removed from the dangerous house, before which the bomb-throwers were
+to gather upon the following day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+While the lights were burning in the palace, and courteous, familiar faces were
+bowing to him, smiling and expressing their concern, the dignitary experienced
+a sensation of pleasant excitement&mdash;he felt as if he had already received,
+or was soon to receive, some great and unexpected reward. But the people went
+away, the lights were extinguished, and through the mirrors, the lace-like and
+fantastic reflection of the electric lamps on the street, quivered across the
+ceiling and over the walls. A stranger in the house, with its paintings, its
+statues and its silence, the light&mdash;itself silent and
+indefinite&mdash;awakened painful thoughts in him as to the vanity of bolts and
+guards and walls. And then, in the dead of night, in the silence and solitude
+of a strange bedroom, a sensation of unbearable fear swept over the dignitary.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He had some kidney trouble, and whenever he grew strongly agitated, his face,
+his hands and his feet became swollen. Now, rising like a mountain of bloated
+flesh above the taut springs of the bed, he felt, with the anguish of a sick
+man, his swollen face, which seemed to him to belong to some one else.
+Unceasingly he kept thinking of the cruel fate which people were preparing for
+him. He recalled, one after another, all the recent horrible instances of bombs
+that had been thrown at men of even greater eminence than himself; he recalled
+how the bombs had torn bodies to pieces, had spattered brains over dirty brick
+walls, had knocked teeth from their roots. And influenced by these meditations,
+it seemed to him that his own stout, sickly body, outspread on the bed, was
+already experiencing the fiery shock of the explosion. He seemed to be able to
+feel his arms being severed from the shoulders, his teeth knocked out, his
+brains scattered into particles, his feet growing numb, lying quietly, their
+toes upward, like those of a dead man. He stirred with an effort, breathed
+loudly and coughed in order not to seem to himself to resemble a corpse in any
+way. He encouraged himself with the live noise of the grating springs, of the
+rustling blanket; and to assure himself that he was actually alive and not
+dead, he uttered in a bass voice, loudly and abruptly, in the silence and
+solitude of the bedroom:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Molodtsi! Molodtsi! Molodtsi!</i> (Good boys)!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was praising the detectives, the police, and the soldiers&mdash;all those
+who guarded his life, and who so opportunely and so cleverly had averted the
+assassination. But even though he stirred, even though he praised his
+protectors, even though he forced an unnatural smile, in order to express his
+contempt for the foolish, unsuccessful terrorists, he nevertheless did not
+believe in his safety, he was not sure that his life would not leave him
+suddenly, at once. Death, which people had devised for him, and which was only
+in their minds, in their intention, seemed to him to be already standing there
+in the room. It seemed to him that Death would remain standing there, and would
+not go away until those people had been captured, until the bombs had been
+taken from them, until they had been placed in a strong prison. There Death was
+standing in the corner, and would not go away&mdash;it could not go away, even
+as an obedient sentinel stationed on guard by a superior&rsquo;s will and
+order.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;At one o&rsquo;clock in the afternoon, your Excellency!&rdquo; this
+phrase kept ringing, changing its tone continually: now it was cheerfully
+mocking, now angry, now dull and obstinate. It sounded as if a hundred wound-up
+gramophones had been placed in his room, and all of them, one after another,
+were shouting with idiotic repetition the words they had been made to shout:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;At one o&rsquo;clock in the afternoon, your Excellency!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And suddenly, this one o&rsquo;clock in the afternoon to-morrow, which but a
+short while ago was not in any way different from other hours, which was only a
+quiet movement of the hand along the dial of his gold watch, assumed an ominous
+finality, sprang out of the dial, began to live separately, stretched itself
+into an enormously huge black pole which cut all life in two. It seemed as if
+no other hours had existed before it and no other hours would exist after
+it&mdash;as if this hour alone, insolent and presumptuous, had a right to a
+certain peculiar existence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, what do you want?&rdquo; asked the Minister angrily, muttering
+between his teeth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The gramophone shouted:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;At one o&rsquo;clock in the afternoon, your Excellency!&rdquo; and the
+black pole smiled and bowed. Gnashing his teeth, the Minister rose in his bed
+to a sitting posture, leaning his face on the palms of his hands&mdash;he
+positively could not sleep on that dreadful night.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Clasping his face in his swollen, perfumed palms, he pictured to himself with
+horrifying clearness how on the following morning, not knowing anything of the
+plot against his life, he would have risen, would have drunk his coffee, not
+knowing anything, and then would have put on his coat in the hallway. And
+neither he, nor the doorkeeper who would have handed him his fur coat, nor the
+lackey who would have brought him the coffee, would have known that it was
+utterly useless to drink coffee, and to put on the coat, since a few instants
+later, everything&mdash;the fur coat and his body and the coffee within
+it&mdash;would be destroyed by an explosion, would be seized by death. The
+doorkeeper would have opened the glass door.... He, the amiable, kind, gentle
+doorkeeper, with the blue, typical eyes of a soldier, and with medals across
+his breast&mdash;he himself with his own hands would have opened the terrible
+door, opened it because he knew nothing. Everybody would have smiled because
+they did not know anything.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oho!&rdquo; he suddenly said aloud, and slowly removed his hands from
+his face. Peering into the darkness, far ahead of him, with a fixed, strained
+look, he outstretched his hand just as slowly, felt the button on the wall and
+pressed it. Then he arose, and without putting on his slippers, walked in his
+bare feet over the rug in the strange, unfamiliar bedroom, found the button of
+another lamp upon the wall and pressed it. It became light and pleasant, and
+only the disarranged bed with the blanket, which had slipped off to the floor,
+spoke of the horror, not altogether past.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In his night-clothes, with his beard disheveled by his restless movements, with
+his angry eyes, the dignitary resembled any other angry old man who suffered
+with insomnia and shortness of breath. It was as if the death which people were
+preparing for him, had made him bare, had torn away from him the magnificence
+and splendor which had surrounded him&mdash;and it was hard to believe that it
+was he who had so much power, that his body was but an ordinary plain human
+body that must have perished terribly in the flame and roar of a monstrous
+explosion. Without dressing himself and not feeling the cold, he sat down in
+the first armchair he found, stroking his disheveled beard, and fixed his eyes
+in deep, calm thoughtfulness upon the unfamiliar plaster figures of the
+ceiling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So that was the trouble! That was why he had trembled in fear and had become so
+agitated! That was why Death seemed to stand in the corner and would not go
+away, could not go away!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fools!&rdquo; he said emphatically, with contempt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fools!&rdquo; he repeated more loudly, and turned his head slightly
+toward the door that those to whom he was referring might hear it. He was
+referring to those whom he had praised but a moment before, who in the excess
+of their zeal had told him of the plot against his life.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; he thought deeply, an easy, convincing idea arising in
+his mind. &ldquo;Now that they have told me, I know, and feel terrified, but if
+I had not been told, I would not have known anything and would have drunk my
+coffee calmly. After that Death would have come&mdash;but then, am I so afraid
+of Death? Here have I been suffering with kidney trouble, and I must surely die
+from it some day, and yet I am not afraid&mdash;because I do not know anything.
+And those fools told me: &lsquo;At one o&rsquo;clock in the afternoon, your
+Excellency!&rsquo; and they thought I would be glad. But instead of that Death
+stationed itself in the corner and would not go away. It would not go away
+because it was my thought. It is not death that is terrible, but the knowledge
+of it: it would be utterly impossible to live if a man could know exactly and
+definitely the day and hour of his death. And the fools cautioned me: &lsquo;At
+one o&rsquo;clock in the afternoon, your Excellency!&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He began to feel light-hearted and cheerful, as if some one had told him that
+he was immortal, that he would never die. And, feeling himself again strong and
+wise amidst the herd of fools who had so stupidly and impudently broken into
+the mystery of the future, he began to think of the bliss of ignorance, and his
+thoughts were the painful thoughts of an old, sick man who had gone through
+endless experience. It was not given to any living being&mdash;man or
+beast&mdash;to know the day and hour of death. Here had he been ill not long
+ago and the physicians told him that he must expect the end, that he should
+make his final arrangements&mdash;but he had not believed them and he remained
+alive. In his youth he had become entangled in an affair and had resolved to
+end his life; he had even loaded the revolver, had written his letters, and had
+fixed upon the hour for suicide&mdash;but before the very end he had suddenly
+changed his mind. It would always be thus&mdash;at the very last moment
+something would change, an unexpected accident would befall&mdash;no one could
+tell when he would die.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;At one o&rsquo;clock in the afternoon, your Excellency!&rdquo; those
+kind asses had said to him, and although they had told him of it only that
+death might be averted, the mere knowledge of its possibility at a certain hour
+again filled him with horror. It was probable that some day he should be
+assassinated, but it would not happen to-morrow&mdash;it would not happen
+to-morrow&mdash;and he could sleep undisturbed, as if he were really immortal.
+Fools&mdash;they did not know what a great law they had dislodged, what an
+abyss they had opened, when they said in their idiotic kindness: &ldquo;At one
+o&rsquo;clock in the afternoon, your Excellency!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, not at one o&rsquo;clock in the afternoon, your Excellency, but no
+one knows when. No one knows when! What?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing,&rdquo; answered Silence, &ldquo;nothing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But you did say something.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing, nonsense. I say: to-morrow, at one o&rsquo;clock in the
+afternoon!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a sudden, acute pain in his heart&mdash;and he understood that he
+would have neither sleep, nor peace, nor joy until that accursed black hour
+standing out of the dial should have passed. Only the shadow of the knowledge
+of something which no living being could know stood there in the corner, and
+that was enough to darken the world and envelop him with the impenetrable gloom
+of horror. The once disturbed fear of death diffused through his body,
+penetrated into his bones.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He no longer feared the murderers of the next day&mdash;they had vanished, they
+had been forgotten, they had mingled with the crowd of hostile faces and
+incidents which surrounded his life. He now feared something sudden and
+inevitable&mdash;an apoplectic stroke, heart failure, some foolish thin little
+vessel which might suddenly fail to withstand the pressure of the blood and
+might burst like a tight glove upon swollen fingers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His short, thick neck seemed terrible to him. It became unbearable for him to
+look upon his short, swollen fingers&mdash;to feel how short they were and how
+they were filled with the moisture of death. And if before, when it was dark,
+he had had to stir in order not to resemble a corpse, now in the bright, cold,
+inimical, dreadful light he was so filled with horror that he could not move in
+order to get a cigarette or to ring for some one. His nerves were giving way.
+Each one of them seemed as if it were a bent wire, at the top of which there
+was a small head with mad, wide-open frightened eyes and a convulsively gaping,
+speechless mouth. He could not draw his breath.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly in the darkness, amidst the dust and cobwebs somewhere upon the
+ceiling, an electric bell came to life. The small, metallic tongue, agitatedly,
+in terror, kept striking the edge of the ringing cap, became silent&mdash;and
+again quivered in an unceasing, frightened din. His Excellency was ringing his
+bell in his own room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+People began to run. Here and there, in the shadows upon the walls, lamps
+flared up&mdash;there were not enough of them to give light, but there were
+enough to cast shadows. The shadows appeared everywhere; they rose in the
+corners, they stretched across the ceiling; tremulously clinging to each and
+every elevation, they covered the walls. And it was hard to understand where
+all these innumerable, deformed silent shadows&mdash;voiceless souls of
+voiceless objects&mdash;had been before.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A deep, trembling voice said something loudly. Then the doctor was hastily
+summoned by telephone; the dignitary was collapsing. The wife of his Excellency
+was also called.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h3><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER II<br/>CONDEMNED TO BE HANGED</h3>
+
+<p>
+Everything befell as the police had foretold. Four terrorists, three men and a
+woman, armed with bombs, infernal machines and revolvers, were seized at the
+very entrance of the house, and another woman was later found and arrested in
+the house where the conspiracy had been hatched. She was its mistress. At the
+same time a great deal of dynamite and half finished bomb explosives were
+seized. All those arrested were very young; the eldest of the men was
+twenty-eight years old, the younger of the women was only nineteen. They were
+tried in the same fortress in which they were imprisoned after the arrest; they
+were tried swiftly and secretly, as was done during that unmerciful time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the trial all of them were calm, but very serious and thoughtful. Their
+contempt for the judges was so intense that none of them wished to emphasize
+his daring by even a superfluous smile or by a feigned expression of
+cheerfulness. Each was simply as calm as was necessary to hedge in his soul,
+from curious, evil and inimical eyes, the great gloom that precedes death.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sometimes they refused to answer questions; sometimes they answered, briefly,
+simply and precisely, as though they were answering not the judge, but
+statisticians, for the purpose of supplying information for particular special
+tables. Three of them, one woman and two men, gave their real names, while two
+others refused and thus remained unknown to the judges.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They manifested for all that was going on at the trial a certain curiosity,
+softened, as though through a haze, such as is peculiar to persons who are very
+ill or are carried away by some great, all-absorbing idea. They glanced up
+occasionally, caught some word in the air more interesting than the others, and
+then resumed the thought from which their attention had been distracted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The man who was nearest to the judges called himself Sergey Golovin, the son of
+a retired colonel, himself an ex-officer. He was still a very young,
+light-haired, broad-shouldered man, so strong that neither the prison nor the
+expectation of inevitable death could remove the color from his cheeks and the
+expression of youthful, happy frankness from his blue eyes. He kept
+energetically tugging at his bushy, small beard, to which he had not become
+accustomed, and continually blinking, kept looking out of the window.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was toward the end of winter, when amidst the snowstorms and the gloomy,
+frosty days, the approaching spring sent as a forerunner a clear, warm, sunny
+day, or but an hour, yet so full of spring, so eagerly young and beaming that
+sparrows on the streets lost their wits for joy, and people seemed almost as
+intoxicated. And now the strange and beautiful sky could be seen through an
+upper window which was dust-covered and unwashed since the last summer. At
+first sight the sky seemed to be milky-gray&mdash;smoke-colored&mdash;but when
+you looked longer the dark blue color began to penetrate through the shade,
+grew into an ever deeper blue&mdash;ever brighter, ever more intense. And the
+fact that it did not reveal itself all at once, but hid itself chastely in the
+smoke of transparent clouds, made it as charming as the girl you love. And
+Sergey Golovin looked at the sky, tugged at his beard, blinked now one eye, now
+the other, with its long, curved lashes, earnestly pondering over something.
+Once he began to move his fingers rapidly and thoughtlessly, knitted his brow
+in some joy, but then he glanced about and his joy died out like a spark which
+is stepped upon. Almost instantly an earthen, deathly blue, without first
+changing into pallor, showed through the color of his cheeks. He clutched his
+downy hair, tore their roots painfully with his fingers, whose tips had turned
+white. But the joy of life and spring was stronger, and a few minutes later his
+frank young face was again yearning toward the spring sky.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The young, pale girl, known only by the name of Musya, was also looking in the
+same direction, at the sky. She was younger than Golovin, but she seemed older
+in her gravity and in the darkness of her open, proud eyes. Only her very thin,
+slender neck, and her delicate girlish hands spoke of her youth; but in
+addition there was that ineffable something, which is youth itself, and which
+sounded so distinctly in her clear, melodious voice, tuned irreproachably like
+a precious instrument, every simple word, every exclamation giving evidence of
+its musical timbre. She was very pale, but it was not a deathly pallor, but
+that peculiar warm whiteness of a person within whom, as it were, a great,
+strong fire is burning, whose body glows transparently like fine Sèvres
+porcelain. She sat almost motionless, and only at times she touched with an
+imperceptible movement of her fingers the circular mark on the middle finger of
+her right hand, the mark of a ring which had been recently removed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She gazed at the sky without caressing kindness or joyous
+recollections&mdash;she looked at it simply because in all the filthy, official
+hall the blue bit of sky was the most beautiful, the purest, the most truthful
+object, and the only one that did not try to search hidden depths in her eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The judges pitied Sergey Golovin; her they despised.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her neighbor, known only by the name of Werner, sat also motionless, in a
+somewhat affected pose, his hands folded between his knees. If a face may be
+said to look like a false door, this unknown man closed his face like an iron
+door and bolted it with an iron lock. He stared motionlessly at the dirty
+wooden floor, and it was impossible to tell whether he was calm or whether he
+was intensely agitated, whether he was thinking of something, or whether he was
+listening to the testimony of the detectives as presented to the court. He was
+not tall in stature. His features were refined and delicate. Tender and
+handsome, so that he reminded you of a moonlit night in the South near the
+seashore, where the cypress trees throw their dark shadows, he at the same time
+gave the impression of tremendous, calm power, of invincible firmness, of cold
+and audacious courage. The very politeness with which he gave brief and precise
+answers seemed dangerous, on his lips, in his half bow. And if the prison garb
+looked upon the others like the ridiculous costume of a buffoon, upon him it
+was not noticeable, so foreign was it to his personality. And although the
+other terrorists had been seized with bombs and infernal machines upon them,
+and Werner had had but a black revolver, the judges for some reason regarded
+him as the leader of the others and treated him with a certain deference,
+although succinctly and in a business-like manner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next man, Vasily Kashirin, was torn between a terrible, dominating fear of
+death and a desperate desire to restrain the fear and not betray it to the
+judges. From early morning, from the time they had been led into court, he had
+been suffocating from an intolerable palpitation of his heart. Perspiration
+came out in drops all along his forehead; his hands were also perspiring and
+cold, and his cold, sweat-covered shirt clung to his body, interfering with the
+freedom of his movements. With a supernatural effort of will-power he forced
+his fingers not to tremble, his voice to be firm and distinct, his eyes to be
+calm. He saw nothing about him; the voices came to him as through a mist, and
+it was to this mist that he made his desperate efforts to answer firmly, to
+answer loudly. But having answered, he immediately forgot question as well as
+answer, and was again struggling with himself silently and terribly. Death was
+disclosed in him so clearly that the judges avoided looking at him. It was hard
+to define his age, as is the case with a corpse which has begun to decompose.
+According to his passport, he was only twenty-three years old. Once or twice
+Werner quietly touched his knee with his hand, and each time Kashirin spoke
+shortly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never mind!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The most terrible sensation was when he was suddenly seized with an
+insufferable desire to cry out, without words, the desperate cry of a beast. He
+touched Werner quickly, and Werner, without lifting his eyes, said softly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never mind, Vasya. It will soon be over.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And embracing them all with a motherly, anxious look, the fifth terrorist,
+Tanya Kovalchuk, was faint with alarm. She had never had any children; she was
+still young and red-cheeked, just as Sergey Golovin, but she seemed as a mother
+to all of them: so full of anxiety, of boundless love were her looks, her
+smiles, her sighs. She paid not the slightest attention to the trial, regarding
+it as though it were something entirely irrelevant, and she listened only to
+the manner in which the others were answering the questions, to hear whether
+the voice was trembling, whether there was fear, whether it was necessary to
+give water to any one.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She could not look at Vasya in her anguish and only wrung her fingers silently.
+At Musya and Werner she gazed proudly and respectfully, and she assumed a
+serious and concentrated expression, and then tried to transfer her smile to
+Sergey Golovin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The dear boy is looking at the sky. Look, look, my darling!&rdquo; she
+thought about Golovin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And Vasya! What is it? My God, my God! What am I to do with him? If I
+should speak to him I might make it still worse. He might suddenly start to
+cry.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So like a calm pond at dawn, reflecting every hastening, passing cloud, she
+reflected upon her full, gentle, kind face every swift sensation, every thought
+of the other four. She did not give a single thought to the fact that she, too,
+was upon trial, that she, too, would be hanged; she was entirely indifferent to
+it. It was in her house that the bombs and the dynamite had been discovered,
+and, strange though it may seem, it was she who had met the police with
+pistol-shots and had wounded one of the detectives in the head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The trial ended at about eight o&rsquo;clock, when it had become dark. Before
+Musya&rsquo;s and Golovin&rsquo;s eyes the sky, which had been turning ever
+bluer, was gradually losing its tint, but it did not turn rosy, did not smile
+softly as in summer evenings, but became muddy, gray, and suddenly grew cold,
+wintry. Golovin heaved a sigh, stretched himself, glanced again twice at the
+window, but the cold darkness of the night alone was there; then continuing to
+tug at his short beard, he began to examine with childish curiosity the judges,
+the soldiers with their muskets, and he smiled at Tanya Kovalchuk. When the sky
+had darkened Musya calmly, without lowering her eyes to the ground, turned them
+to the corner where a small cobweb was quivering from the imperceptible
+radiations of the steam heat, and thus she remained until the sentence was
+pronounced.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After the verdict, having bidden good-by to their frock-coated lawyers, and
+evading each other&rsquo;s helplessly confused, pitying and guilty eyes, the
+convicted terrorists crowded in the doorway for a moment and exchanged brief
+words.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never mind, Vasya. Everything will be over soon,&rdquo; said Werner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am all right, brother,&rdquo; Kashirin replied loudly, calmly and even
+somewhat cheerfully. And indeed, his face had turned slightly rosy, and no
+longer looked like that of a decomposing corpse.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The devil take them; they&rsquo;ve hanged us,&rdquo; Golovin cursed
+quaintly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That was to be expected,&rdquo; replied Werner calmly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To-morrow the sentence will be pronounced in its final form and we shall
+all be placed together,&rdquo; said Tanya Kovalchuk consolingly. &ldquo;Until
+the execution we shall all be together.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Musya was silent. Then she resolutely moved forward.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h3><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER III<br/>WHY SHOULD I BE HANGED?</h3>
+
+<p>
+Two weeks before the terrorists had been tried the same military district
+court, with a different set of judges, had tried and condemned to death by
+hanging Ivan Yanson, a peasant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ivan Yanson was a workman for a well-to-do farmer, in no way different from
+other workmen. He was an Esthonian by birth, from Vezenberg, and in the course
+of several years, passing from one farm to another, he had come close to the
+capital. He spoke Russian very poorly, and as his master was a Russian, by name
+Lazarev, and as there were no Esthonians in the neighborhood, Yanson had
+practically remained silent for almost two years. In general, he was apparently
+not inclined to talk, and was silent not only with human beings, but even with
+animals. He would water the horse in silence, harness it in silence, moving
+about it, slowly and lazily, with short, irresolute steps, and when the horse,
+annoyed by his manner, would begin to frolic, to become capricious, he would
+beat it in silence with a heavy whip. He would beat it cruelly, with stolid,
+angry persistency, and when this happened at a time when he was suffering from
+the aftereffects of a carouse, he would work himself into a frenzy. At such
+times the crack of the whip could be heard in the house, with the frightened,
+painful pounding of the horse&rsquo;s hoofs upon the board floor of the barn.
+For beating the horse his master would beat Yanson, but then, finding that he
+could not be reformed, paid no more attention to him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Once or twice a month Yanson became intoxicated, usually on those days when he
+took his master to the large railroad station, where there was a refreshment
+bar. After leaving his master at the station, he would drive off about half a
+verst away, and there, stalling the sled and the horse in the snow on the side
+of the road, he would wait until the train had gone. The sled would stand
+sideways, almost overturned, the horse standing with widely spread legs up to
+his belly in a snow-bank, from time to time lowering his head to lick the soft,
+downy snow, while Yanson would recline in an awkward position in the sled as if
+dozing away. The unfastened ear-lappets of his worn fur cap would hang down
+like the ears of a setter, and the moist sweat would stand under his little
+reddish nose.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Soon he would return to the station, and would quickly become intoxicated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On his way back to the farm, the whole ten versts, he would drive at a fast
+gallop. The little horse, driven to madness by the whip, would rear, as if
+possessed by a demon; the sled would sway, almost overturn, striking against
+poles, and Yanson, letting the reins go, would half sing, half exclaim abrupt,
+meaningless phrases in Esthonian. But more often he would not sing, but with
+his teeth gritted together in an onrush of unspeakable rage, suffering and
+delight, he would drive silently on as though blind. He would not notice those
+who passed him, he would not call to them to look out, he would not slacken his
+mad pace, either at the turns of the road or on the long slopes of the mountain
+roads. How it happened at such times that he crushed no one, how he himself was
+never dashed to death in one of these mad rides, was inexplicable.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He would have been driven from this place, as he had been driven from other
+places, but he was cheap and other workmen were not better, and thus he
+remained there two years. His life was uneventful. One day he received a
+letter, written in Esthonian, but as he himself was illiterate, and as the
+others did not understand Esthonian, the letter remained unread; and as if not
+understanding that the letter might bring him tidings from his native home, he
+flung it into the manure with a certain savage, grim indifference. At one time
+Yanson tried to make love to the cook, but he was not successful, and was
+rudely rejected and ridiculed. He was short in stature, his face was freckled,
+and his small, sleepy eyes were somewhat of an indefinite color. Yanson took
+his failure indifferently, and never again bothered the cook.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But while Yanson spoke but little, he was listening to something all the time.
+He heard the sounds of the dismal, snow-covered fields, with their heaps of
+frozen manure resembling rows of small, snow-covered graves, the sounds of the
+blue, tender distance, of the buzzing telegraph wires, and the conversation of
+other people. What the fields and telegraph wires spoke to him he alone knew,
+and the conversation of the people were disquieting, full of rumors about
+murders and robberies and arson. And one night he heard in the neighboring
+village the little church bell ringing faintly and helplessly, and the
+crackling of the flames of a fire. Some vagabonds had plundered a rich farm,
+had killed the master and his wife, and had set fire to the house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And on their farm, too, they lived in fear; the dogs were loose, not only at
+night, but also during the day, and the master slept with a gun by his side. He
+wished to give such a gun to Yanson, only it was an old one with one barrel.
+But Yanson turned the gun about in his hand, shook his head and declined it.
+His master did not understand the reason and scolded him, but the reason was
+that Yanson had more faith in the power of his Finnish knife than in the rusty
+gun.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It would kill me,&rdquo; he said, looking at his master sleepily with
+his glassy eyes, and the master waved his hand in despair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You fool! Think of having to live with such workmen!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And this same Ivan Yanson, who distrusted a gun, one winter evening, when the
+other workmen had been sent away to the station, committed a very complicated
+attempt at robbery, murder and rape. He did it in a surprisingly simple manner.
+He locked the cook in the kitchen, lazily, with the air of a man who is longing
+to sleep, walked over to his master from behind and swiftly stabbed him several
+times in the back with his knife. The master fell unconscious, and the mistress
+began to run about, screaming, while Yanson, showing his teeth and brandishing
+his knife, began to ransack the trunks and the chests of drawers. He found the
+money he sought, and then, as if noticing the mistress for the first time, and
+as though unexpectedly even to himself, he rushed upon her in order to violate
+her. But as he had let his knife drop to the floor, the mistress proved
+stronger than he, and not only did not allow him to harm her, but almost choked
+him into unconsciousness. Then the master on the floor turned, the cook
+thundered upon the door with the oven-fork, breaking it open, and Yanson ran
+away into the fields. He was caught an hour later, kneeling down behind the
+corner of the barn, striking one match after another, which would not ignite,
+in an attempt to set the place on fire.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A few days later the master died of blood poisoning, and Yanson, when his turn
+among other robbers and murderers came, was tried and condemned to death. In
+court he was the same as always; a little man, freckled, with sleepy, glassy
+eyes. It seemed as if he did not understand in the least the meaning of what
+was going on about him; he appeared to be entirely indifferent. He blinked his
+white eyelashes, stupidly, without curiosity; examined the sombre, unfamiliar
+courtroom, and picked his nose with his hard, shriveled, unbending finger. Only
+those who had seen him on Sundays at church would have known that he had made
+an attempt to adorn himself. He wore on his neck a knitted, muddy-red shawl,
+and in places had dampened the hair of his head. Where the hair was wet it lay
+dark and smooth, while on the other side it stuck up in light and sparse tufts,
+like straws upon a hail-beaten, wasted meadow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the sentence was pronounced&mdash;death by hanging&mdash;Yanson suddenly
+became agitated. He reddened deeply and began to tie and untie the shawl about
+his neck as though it were choking him. Then he waved his arms stupidly and
+said, turning to the judge who had not read the sentence, and pointing with his
+finger at the judge who read it:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He said that I should be hanged.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who do you mean?&rdquo; asked the presiding judge, who had pronounced
+the sentence in a deep, bass voice. Every one smiled; some tried to hide their
+smiles behind their mustaches and their papers. Yanson pointed his index finger
+at the presiding judge and answered angrily, looking at him askance:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yanson again turned his eyes to the judge who had been silent, restraining a
+smile, whom he felt to be a friend, a man who had nothing to do with the
+sentence, and repeated:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He said I should be hanged. Why must I be hanged?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Take the prisoner away.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Yanson succeeded in repeating once more, convincingly and weightily:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why must I be hanged?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He looked so absurd, with his small, angry face, with his outstretched finger,
+that even the soldier of the convoy, breaking the rule, said to him in an
+undertone as he led him away from the courtroom:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are a fool, young man!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why must I be hanged?&rdquo; repeated Yanson stubbornly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They&rsquo;ll swing you up so quickly that you&rsquo;ll have no time to
+kick.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Keep still!&rdquo; cried the other convoy angrily. But he himself could
+not refrain from adding:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A robber, too! Why did you take a human life, you fool? You must hang
+for that!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They might pardon him,&rdquo; said the first soldier, who began to feel
+sorry for Yanson.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, yes! They&rsquo;ll pardon people like him, will they? Well,
+we&rsquo;ve talked enough.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Yanson had become silent again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was again placed in the cell in which he had already sat for a month and to
+which he had grown accustomed, just as he had become accustomed to everything:
+to blows, to vodka, to the dismal, snow-covered fields, with their snow-heaps
+resembling graves. And now he even began to feel cheerful when he saw his bed,
+the familiar window with the grating, and when he was given something to
+eat&mdash;he had not eaten anything since morning. He had an unpleasant
+recollection of what had taken place in the court, but of that he could not
+think&mdash;he was unable to recall it. And death by hanging he could not
+picture to himself at all.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Although Yanson had been condemned to death, there were many others similarly
+sentenced, and he was not regarded as an important criminal. They spoke to him
+accordingly, with neither fear nor respect, just as they would speak to
+prisoners who were not to be executed. The warden, on learning of the verdict,
+said to him:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, my friend, they&rsquo;ve hanged you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;When are they going to hang me?&rdquo; asked Yanson distrustfully. The
+warden meditated a moment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, you&rsquo;ll have to wait&mdash;until they can get together a
+whole party. It isn&rsquo;t worth bothering for one man, especially for a man
+like you. It is necessary to work up the right spirit.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And when will that be?&rdquo; persisted Yanson. He was not at all
+offended that it was not worth while to hang him alone. He did not believe it,
+but considered it as an excuse for postponing the execution, preparatory to
+revoking it altogether. And he was seized with joy; the confused, terrible
+moment, of which it was so painful to think, retreated far into the distance,
+becoming fictitious and improbable, as death always seems.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;When? When?&rdquo; cried the warden, a dull, morose old man, growing
+angry. &ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t like hanging a dog, which you take behind the
+barn&mdash;and it is done in no time. I suppose you would like to be hanged
+like that, you fool!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want to be hanged,&rdquo; and suddenly Yanson frowned
+strangely. &ldquo;He said that I should be hanged, but I don&rsquo;t want
+it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And perhaps for the first time in his life he laughed, a hoarse, absurd, yet
+gay and joyous laughter. It sounded like the cackling of a goose, Ga-ga-ga! The
+warden looked at him in astonishment, then knit his brow sternly. This strange
+gayety of a man who was to be executed was an offence to the prison, as well as
+to the very executioner; it made them appear absurd. And suddenly, for the
+briefest instant, it appeared to the old warden, who had passed all his life in
+the prison, and who looked upon its laws as the laws of nature, that the prison
+and all the life within it was something like an insane asylum, in which he,
+the warden, was the chief lunatic.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pshaw! The devil take you!&rdquo; and he spat aside. &ldquo;Why are you
+giggling here? This is no dramshop!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And I don&rsquo;t want to be hanged&mdash;ga-ga-ga!&rdquo; laughed
+Yanson.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Satan!&rdquo; muttered the inspector, feeling the need of making the
+sign of the cross.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This little man, with his small, wizened face&mdash;he resembled least of all
+the devil&mdash;but there was that in his silly giggling which destroyed the
+sanctity and the strength of the prison. If he laughed longer, it seemed to the
+warden as if the walls might fall asunder, the grating melt and drop out, as if
+the warden himself might lead the prisoners to the gates, bowing and saying:
+&ldquo;Take a walk in the city, gentlemen; or perhaps some of you would like to
+go to the village?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Satan!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Yanson had stopped laughing, and was now winking cunningly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You had better look out!&rdquo; said the warden, with an indefinite
+threat, and he walked away, glancing back of him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yanson was calm and cheerful throughout the evening. He repeated to himself,
+&ldquo;I shall not be hanged,&rdquo; and it seemed to him so convincing, so
+wise, so irrefutable, that it was unnecessary to feel uneasy. He had long
+forgotten about his crime, only sometimes he regretted that he had not been
+successful in attacking his master&rsquo;s wife. But he soon forgot that, too.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Every morning Yanson asked when he was to be hanged, and every morning the
+warden answered him angrily:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Take your time, you devil! Wait!&rdquo; and he would walk off quickly
+before Yanson could begin to laugh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And from these monotonously repeated words, and from the fact that each day
+came, passed and ended as every ordinary day had passed, Yanson became
+convinced that there would be no execution. He began to lose all memory of the
+trial, and would roll about all day long on his cot, vaguely and happily
+dreaming about the white melancholy fields, with their snow-mounds, about the
+refreshment bar at the railroad station, and about other things still more
+vague and bright. He was well fed in the prison, and somehow he began to grow
+stout rapidly and to assume airs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now she would have liked me,&rdquo; he thought of his master&rsquo;s
+wife. &ldquo;Now I am stout&mdash;not worse-looking than the master.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But he longed for a drink of vodka, to drink and to take a ride on horseback,
+to ride fast, madly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the terrorists were arrested the news of it reached the prison. And in
+answer to Yanson&rsquo;s usual question, the warden said eagerly and
+unexpectedly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It won&rsquo;t be long now!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He looked at Yanson calmly with an air of importance and repeated:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It won&rsquo;t be long now. I suppose in about a week.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yanson turned pale, and as though falling asleep, so turbid was the look in his
+glassy eyes, asked:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you joking?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;First you could not wait, and now you think I am joking. We are not
+allowed to joke here. You like to joke, but we are not allowed to,&rdquo; said
+the warden with dignity as he went away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Toward evening of that day Yanson had already grown thinner. His skin, which
+had stretched out and had become smooth for a time, was suddenly covered with a
+multitude of small wrinkles, and in places it seemed even to hang down. His
+eyes became sleepy, and all his motions were now so slow and languid as though
+each turn of the head, each move of the fingers, each step of the foot were a
+complicated and cumbersome undertaking which required very careful
+deliberation. At night he lay on his cot, but did not close his eyes, and thus,
+heavy with sleep, they remained open until morning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Aha!&rdquo; said the warden with satisfaction, seeing him on the
+following day. &ldquo;This is no dramshop for you, my dear!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a feeling of pleasant gratification, like a scientist whose experiment had
+proved successful again, he examined the condemned man closely and carefully
+from head to foot. Now everything would go along as necessary. Satan was
+disgraced, the sacredness of the prison and the execution was re-established,
+and the old man inquired condescendingly, even with a feeling of sincere pity:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you want to meet somebody or not?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What for?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, to say good-by! Have you no mother, for instance, or a
+brother?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I must not be hanged,&rdquo; said Yanson softly, and looked askance at
+the warden. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want to be hanged.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The warden looked at him and waved his hand in silence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Toward evening Yanson grew somewhat calmer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The day had been so ordinary, the cloudy winter sky looked so ordinary, the
+footsteps of people and their conversation on matters of business sounded so
+ordinary, the smell of the sour soup of cabbage was so ordinary, customary and
+natural that he again ceased believing in the execution. But the night became
+terrible to him. Before this Yanson had felt the night simply as darkness, as
+an especially dark time, when it was necessary to go to sleep, but now he began
+to be aware of its mysterious and uncanny nature. In order not to believe in
+death, it was necessary to hear and see and feel ordinary things about him,
+footsteps, voices, light, the soup of sour cabbage. But in the dark everything
+was unnatural; the silence and the darkness were in themselves something like
+death.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And the longer the night dragged the more dreadful it became. With the ignorant
+innocence of a child or a savage, who believe everything possible, Yanson felt
+like crying to the sun: &ldquo;Shine!&rdquo; He begged, he implored that the
+sun should shine, but the night drew its long, dark hours remorselessly over
+the earth, and there was no power that could hasten its course. And this
+impossibility, arising for the first time before the weak consciousness of
+Yanson, filled him with terror. Still not daring to realize it clearly, he
+already felt the inevitability of approaching death, and felt himself making
+the first step upon the gallows, with benumbed feet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Day quieted him, but night again filled him with fear, and so it was until one
+night when he realized fully that death was inevitable, that it would come in
+three days at dawn with the sunrise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He had never thought of what death was, and it had no image to him&mdash;but
+now he realized clearly, he saw, he felt that it had entered his cell and was
+looking for him, groping about with its hands. And to save himself, he began to
+run wildly about the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the cell was so small that it seemed that its corners were not sharp but
+dull, and that all of them were pushing him into the center of the room. And
+there was nothing behind which to hide. And the door was locked. And it was
+dark. Several times he struck his body against the walls, making no sound, and
+once he struck against the door&mdash;it gave forth a dull, empty sound. He
+stumbled over something and fell upon his face, and then he felt that IT was
+going to seize him. Lying on his stomach, holding to the floor, hiding his face
+in the dark, dirty asphalt, Yanson howled in terror. He lay; and cried at the
+top of his voice until some one came. And when he was lifted from the floor and
+seated upon the cot, and cold water was poured over his head, he still did not
+dare open his tightly closed eyes. He opened one eye, and noticing some
+one&rsquo;s boot in one of the corners of the room, he commenced crying again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the cold water began to produce its effect in bringing him to his senses.
+To help the effect, the warden on duty, the same old man, administered medicine
+to Yanson in the form of several blows upon the head. And this sensation of
+life returning to him really drove the fear of death away. Yanson opened his
+eyes, and then, his mind utterly confused, he slept soundly for the remainder
+of the night. He lay on his back, with mouth open, and snored loudly, and
+between his lashes, which were not tightly closed, his flat, dead eyes, which
+were upturned so that the pupil did not show, could be seen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Later, everything in the world&mdash;day and night, footsteps, voices, the soup
+of sour cabbage, produced in him a continuous terror, plunging him into a state
+of savage uncomprehending astonishment. His weak mind was unable to combine
+these two things which so monstrously contradicted each other&mdash;the bright
+day, the odor and taste of cabbage&mdash;and the fact that two days later he
+must die. He did not think of anything. He did not even count the hours, but
+simply stood in mute stupefaction before this contradiction which tore his
+brain in two. And he became evenly pale, neither white nor redder in parts, and
+appeared to be calm. Only he ate nothing and ceased sleeping altogether. He sat
+all night long on a stool, his legs crossed under him, in fright. Or he walked
+about in his cell, quietly, stealthily, and sleepily looking about him on all
+sides. His mouth was half-open all the time, as though from incessant
+astonishment, and before taking the most ordinary thing into his hands, he
+would examine it stupidly for a long time, and would take it distrustfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When he became thus, the wardens as well as the sentinel who watched him
+through the little window, ceased paying further attention to him. This was the
+customary condition of prisoners, and reminded the wardens of cattle being led
+to slaughter after a staggering blow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now he is stunned, now he will feel nothing until his very death,&rdquo;
+said the warden, looking at him with experienced eyes. &ldquo;Ivan! Do you
+hear? Ivan!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I must not be hanged,&rdquo; answered Yanson, in a dull voice, and his
+lower jaw again drooped.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You should not have committed murder. You would not be hanged
+then,&rdquo; answered the chief warden, a young but very important-looking man
+with medals on his chest. &ldquo;You committed murder, yet you do not want to
+be hanged?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He wants to kill human beings without paying for it. Fool! fool!&rdquo;
+said another.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want to be hanged,&rdquo; said Yanson.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, my friend, you may want it or not, that&rsquo;s your
+affair,&rdquo; replied the chief warden indifferently. &ldquo;Instead of
+talking nonsense, you had better arrange your affairs. You still have
+something.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He has nothing. One shirt and a suit of clothes. And a fur cap! A
+sport!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus time passed until Thursday. And on Thursday, at midnight a number of
+people entered Yanson&rsquo;s cell, and one man, with shoulder-straps, said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, get ready. We must go.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yanson, moving slowly and drowsily as before, put on everything he had and tied
+his muddy-red muffler about his neck. The man with shoulder-straps, smoking a
+cigarette, said to some one while watching Yanson dress:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What a warm day this will be. Real spring.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yanson&rsquo;s small eyes were closing; he seemed to be falling asleep, and he
+moved so slowly and stiffly that the warden cried to him:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hey, there! Quicker! Have you fallen asleep?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly Yanson stopped.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want to be hanged,&rdquo; said he.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was taken by the arms and led away, and began to stride obediently, raising
+his shoulders. Outside he found himself in the moist, spring air, and beads of
+sweat stood under his little nose. Notwithstanding that it was night, it was
+thawing very strongly and drops of water were dripping upon the stones. And
+waiting while the soldiers, clanking their sabres and bending their heads, were
+stepping into the unlighted black carriage, Yanson lazily moved his finger
+under his moist nose and adjusted the badly tied muffler about his neck.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h3><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER IV<br/>WE COME FROM ORYOL</h3>
+
+<p>
+The same council-chamber of the military district court which had condemned
+Yanson had also condemned to death a peasant of the Government of Oryol, of the
+District of Yeletzk, Mikhail Golubets, nicknamed Tsiganok, also Tatarin. His
+latest crime, proven beyond question, had been the murder of three people and
+armed robbery. Behind that, his dark past disappeared in a depth of mystery.
+There were vague rumors that he had participated in a series of other murders
+and robberies, and in his path there was felt to be a dark trail of blood,
+fire, and drunken debauchery. He called himself murderer with utter frankness
+and sincerity, and scornfully regarded those who, according to the latest
+fashion, styled themselves &ldquo;expropriators.&rdquo; Of his last crime,
+since it was useless for him to deny anything, he spoke freely and in detail,
+but in answer to questions about his past, he merely gritted his teeth,
+whistled, and said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Search for the wind of the fields!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When he was annoyed in cross-examination, Tsiganok assumed a serious and
+dignified air:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All of us from Oryol are thoroughbreds,&rdquo; he would say gravely and
+deliberately. &ldquo;Oryol and Kroma are the homes of first-class thieves.
+Karachev and Livna are the breeding-places of thieves. And Yeletz&mdash;is the
+parent of all thieves. Now&mdash;what else is there to say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was nicknamed Tsiganok (gypsy) because of his appearance and his thievish
+manner. He was black-haired, lean, with yellow spots on his prominent,
+&ldquo;Tartar-like cheek-bones. His glance was swift, brief, but fearfully
+direct and searching, and the thing upon which he looked for a moment seemed to
+lose something, seemed to deliver up to him a part of itself, and to become
+something else. It was just as unpleasant and repugnant to take a cigarette at
+which he looked, as though it had already been in his mouth. There was a
+certain constant restlessness in him, now twisting him like a rag, now throwing
+him about like a body of coiling live wires. And he drank water almost by the
+bucket.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To all questions during the trial he answered shortly, firmly, jumping up
+quickly, and at times he seemed to answer even with pleasure.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Correct!&rdquo; he would say.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sometimes he emphasized it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Cor-r-rect!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At one time, suddenly, when they were speaking of something that would hardly
+have seemed to suggest it, he jumped to his feet and asked the presiding judge:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Will you allow me to whistle?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What for?&rdquo; asked the judge, surprised.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They said that I gave the signal to my comrades. I would like to show
+you how. It is very interesting.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The judge consented, somewhat wonderingly. Tsiganok quickly placed four fingers
+in his mouth, two fingers of each hand, rolled his eyes fiercely&mdash;and then
+the dead air of the courtroom was suddenly rent by a real, wild,
+murderer&rsquo;s whistle&mdash;at which frightened horses leap and rear on
+their hind legs and human faces involuntarily blanch. The mortal anguish of him
+who is to be assassinated, the wild joy of the murderer, the dreadful warning,
+the call, the gloom and loneliness of a stormy autumn night&mdash;all this rang
+in his piercing shriek, which was neither human nor beastly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The presiding officer shouted&mdash;then waved his arm at Tsiganok, and
+Tsiganok obediently became silent. And, like an artist who had triumphantly
+performed a difficult aria, he sat down, wiped his wet fingers upon his coat,
+and surveyed those present with an air of satisfaction.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What a robber!&rdquo; said one of the judges, rubbing his ear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Another one, however, with a wild Russian beard, but with the eyes of a Tartar,
+like those of Tsiganok, gazed pensively above Tsiganok&rsquo;s head, then
+smiled and remarked:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is indeed interesting.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With light hearts, without mercy, without the slightest pangs of conscience,
+the judges brought out against Tsiganok a verdict of death.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Correct!&rdquo; said Tsiganok, when the verdict was pronounced.
+&ldquo;In the open field and on a cross-beam! Correct!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And turning to the convoy, he hurled with bravado:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, are we not going? Come on, you sour-coat. And hold your
+gun&mdash;I might take it away from you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The soldier looked at him sternly, with fear, exchanged glances with his
+comrade, and felt the lock of his gun. The other did the same. And all the way
+to the prison the soldiers felt that they were not walking but flying through
+the air&mdash;as if hypnotized by the prisoner, they felt neither the ground
+beneath their feet, nor the passage of time, nor themselves.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mishka Tsiganok, like Yanson, had had to spend seventeen days in prison before
+his execution. And all seventeen days passed as though they were one
+day&mdash;they were bound up in one inextinguishable thought of escape, of
+freedom, of life. The restlessness of Tsiganok, which was now repressed by the
+walls and the bars and the dead window through which nothing could be seen,
+turned all its fury upon himself and burned his soul like coals scattered upon
+boards. As though he were in a drunken vapor, bright but incomplete images
+swarmed upon him, failing and then becoming confused, and then again rushing
+through his mind in an unrestrainable blinding whirlwind&mdash;and all were
+bent toward escape, toward liberty, toward life. With his nostrils expanded,
+like those of a horse, Tsiganok smelt the air for hours long&mdash;it seemed to
+him that he could smell the odor of hemp, of the smoke of fire&mdash;the
+colorless and biting smell of burning. Now he whirled about in the room like a
+top, touching the walls, tapping them nervously with his fingers from time to
+time, taking aim, boring the ceiling with his gaze, filing the prison bars. By
+his restlessness, he had tired out the soldiers who watched him through the
+little window, and who, several times, in despair, had threatened to shoot.
+Tsiganok would retort, coarsely and derisively, and the quarrel would end
+peacefully because the dispute would soon turn into boorish, unoffending abuse,
+after which shooting would have seemed absurd and impossible.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tsiganok slept during the nights soundly, without stirring, in unchanging yet
+live motionlessness, like a wire spring in temporary inactivity. But as soon as
+he arose, he immediately commenced to walk, to plan, to grope about. His hands
+were always dry and hot, but his heart at times would suddenly grow cold, as if
+a cake of unmelting ice had been placed upon his chest, sending a slight, dry
+shiver through his whole body. At such times, Tsiganok, always dark in
+complexion, would turn black, assuming the shade of bluish cast-iron. And he
+acquired a curious habit; as though he had eaten too much of something
+sickeningly sweet, he kept licking his lips, smacking them, and would spit on
+the floor, hissingly, through his teeth. When he spoke, he did not finish his
+words, so rapidly did his thoughts run that his tongue was unable to compass
+them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One day the chief warden, accompanied by a soldier, entered his cell. He looked
+askance at the floor and said gruffly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Look! How dirty he has made it!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tsiganok retorted quickly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve made the whole world dirty, you fat-face, and yet I
+haven&rsquo;t said anything to you. What brings you here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The warden, speaking as gruffly as before, asked him whether he would act as
+executioner. Tsiganok burst out laughing, showing his teeth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You can&rsquo;t find any one else? That&rsquo;s good! Go ahead, hang!
+Ha! ha! ha! The necks are there, the rope is there, but there is nobody to
+string it up. By God! that&rsquo;s good!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll save your neck if you do it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course&mdash;I couldn&rsquo;t hang them if I were dead. Well said,
+you fool!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, what do you say? Is it all the same to you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And how do you hang them here? I suppose they&rsquo;re choked on the
+sly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, with music,&rdquo; snarled the warden.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, what a fool! Of course it can be done with music. This way!&rdquo;
+and he began to sing, with a bold and daring swing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have lost your wits, my friend,&rdquo; said the warden. &ldquo;What
+do you say? Speak sensibly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tsiganok grinned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How eager you are! Come another time and I&rsquo;ll tell you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After that, into that chaos of bright, yet incomplete images which oppressed
+Tsiganok by their impetuosity, a new image came&mdash;how good it would be to
+become a hangman in a red shirt. He pictured to himself vividly a square
+crowded with people, a high scaffold, and he, Tsiganok, in a red shirt walking
+about upon the scaffold with an ax. The sun shone overhead, gaily flashing from
+the ax, and everything was so gay and bright that even the man whose head was
+soon to be chopped off was smiling. And behind the crowd, wagons and the heads
+of horses could be seen&mdash;the peasants had come from the village; and
+beyond them, further, he could see the village itself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ts-akh!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tsiganok smacked his lips, licking them, and spat. And suddenly he felt as
+though a fur cap had been pushed over his head to his very mouth&mdash;it
+became black and stifling, and his heart again became like a cake of unmelting
+ice, sending a slight, dry shiver through his whole body.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The warden came in twice again, and Tsiganok, showing his teeth, said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How eager you are! Come in again!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Finally one day the warden shouted through the casement window as he passed
+rapidly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve let your chance slip by, you fool! We&rsquo;ve found
+somebody else.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The devil take you! Hang yourself!&rdquo; snarled Tsiganok, and he
+stopped dreaming of the execution.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But toward the end, the nearer he approached the time, the weight of the
+fragments of his broken images became unbearable. Tsiganok now felt like
+standing still, like spreading his legs and standing&mdash;but a whirling
+current of thoughts carried him away and there was nothing at which he could
+clutch&mdash;everything about him swam. And his sleep also became uneasy.
+Dreams even more violent than his thoughts appeared&mdash;new dreams, solid,
+heavy, like wooden painted blocks. And it was no longer like a current, but
+like an endless fall to an endless depth, a whirling flight through the whole
+visible world of colors.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Tsiganok was free he had worn only a pair of dashing mustaches, but in the
+prison a short, black, bristly beard grew on his face and it made him look
+fearsome, insane. At times Tsiganok really lost his senses and whirled absurdly
+about in the cell, still tapping upon the rough, plastered walls nervously. And
+he drank water like a horse.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At times toward evening when they lit the lamp, Tsiganok would stand on all
+fours in the middle of his cell and would howl the quivering howl of a wolf. He
+was peculiarly serious while doing it, and would howl as though he were
+performing an important and indispensable act. He would fill his chest with air
+and then exhale it, slowly in a prolonged tremulous howl, and, cocking his
+eyes, would listen intently as the sound issued forth. And the very quiver in
+his voice seemed in a manner intentional. He did not scream wildly, but drew
+out each note carefully in that mournful wail full of untold sorrow and terror.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then he would suddenly break off howling and for several minutes would remain
+silent, still standing on all fours. Then suddenly he would mutter softly,
+staring at the ground:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My darlings, my sweethearts!... My darlings, my sweethearts! have
+pity.... My darlings!... My sweethearts!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And it seemed again as if he were listening intently to his own voice. As he
+said each word he would listen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then he would jump up and for a whole hour would curse continually.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He cursed picturesquely, shouting and rolling his blood-shot eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you hang me&mdash;hang me!&rdquo; and he would burst out cursing
+again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And the sentinel, in the meantime white as chalk, weeping with pain and fright,
+would knock at the door with the butt-end of the gun and cry helplessly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll fire! I&rsquo;ll kill you as sure as I live! Do you
+hear?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But he dared not shoot. If there was no actual rebellion they never fired at
+those who had been condemned to death. And Tsiganok would gnash his teeth,
+would curse and spit. His brain thus racked on a monstrously sharp blade
+between life and death was falling to pieces like a lump of dry clay.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When they entered the cell at midnight to lead Tsiganok to the execution he
+began to bustle about and seemed to have recovered his spirits. Again he had
+that sweet taste in his mouth, and his saliva collected abundantly, but his
+cheeks turned rosy and in his eyes began to glisten his former somewhat savage
+slyness. Dressing himself he asked the official:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who is going to do the hanging? A new man? I suppose he hasn&rsquo;t
+learned his job yet.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You needn&rsquo;t worry about it,&rdquo; answered the official dryly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t help worrying, your Honor. I am going to be hanged, not
+you. At least don&rsquo;t be stingy with the government&rsquo;s soap on the
+noose.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All right, all right! Keep quiet!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This man here has eaten all your soap,&rdquo; said Tsiganok, pointing to
+the warden. &ldquo;See how his face shines.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Silence!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be stingy!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Tsiganok burst out laughing. But he began to feel that it was getting ever
+sweeter in his mouth, and suddenly his legs began to feel strangely numb.
+Still, on coming out into the yard, he managed to exclaim:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The carriage of the Count of Bengal!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h3><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER V<br/>KISS&mdash;AND SAY NOTHING</h3>
+
+<p>
+The verdict concerning the five terrorists was pronounced finally and confirmed
+upon the same day. The condemned were not told when the execution would take
+place, but they knew from the usual procedure that they would be hanged the
+same night, or, at the very latest, upon the following night. And when it was
+proposed to them that they meet their relatives upon the following Thursday
+they understood that the execution would take place on Friday at dawn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tanya Kovalchuk had no near relatives, and those whom she had were somewhere in
+the wilderness in Little Russia, and it was not likely that they even knew of
+the trial or of the coming execution. Musya and Werner, as unidentified people,
+were not supposed to have relatives, and only two, Sergey Golovin and Vasily
+Kashirin, were to meet their parents. Both of them looked upon that meeting
+with terror and anguish, yet they dared not refuse the old people the last
+word, the last kiss.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sergey Golovin was particularly tortured by the thought of the coming meeting.
+He dearly loved his father and mother; he had seen them but a short while
+before, and now he was in a state of terror as to what would happen when they
+came to see him. The execution itself, in all its monstrous horror, in its
+brain-stunning madness, he could imagine more easily, and it seemed less
+terrible than these other few moments of meeting, brief and unsatisfactory,
+which seemed to reach beyond time, beyond life itself. How to look, what to
+think, what to say, his mind could not determine. The most simple and ordinary
+act, to take his father by the hand, to kiss him, and to say, &ldquo;How do you
+do, father?&rdquo; seemed to him unspeakably horrible in its monstrous,
+inhuman, absurd deceitfulness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After the sentence the condemned were not placed together in one cell, as Tanya
+Kovalchuk had supposed they would be, but each was put in solitary confinement,
+and all the morning, until eleven o&rsquo;clock, when his parents came, Sergey
+Golovin paced his cell furiously, tugged at his beard, frowned pitiably and
+muttered inaudibly. Sometimes he would stop abruptly, would breathe deeply and
+then exhale like a man who has been too long under water. But he was so
+healthy, his young life was so strong within him, that even in the moments of
+most painful suffering his blood played under his skin, reddening his cheeks,
+and his blue eyes shone brightly and frankly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But everything was far different from what he had anticipated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nikolay Sergeyevich Golovin, Sergey&rsquo;s father, a retired colonel, was the
+first to enter the room where the meeting took place. He was all
+white&mdash;his face, his beard, his hair, and his hands&mdash;as if he were a
+snow statue attired in man&rsquo;s clothes. He had on the same old but
+well-cleaned coat, smelling of benzine, with new shoulder-straps crosswise,
+that he had always worn, and he entered firmly, with an air of stateliness,
+with strong and steady steps. He stretched out his white, thin hand and said
+loudly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How do you do, Sergey?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Behind him Sergey&rsquo;s mother entered with short steps, smiling strangely.
+But she also pressed his hands and repeated loudly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How do you do, Seryozhenka?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She kissed him on the lips and sat down silently. She did not rush over to him;
+she did not burst into tears; she did not break into a sob; she did not do any
+of the terrible things which Sergey had feared. She just kissed him and
+silently sat down. And with her trembling hands she even adjusted her black
+silk dress.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sergey did not know that the colonel, having locked himself all the previous
+night in his little study, had deliberated upon this ritual with all his power.
+&ldquo;We must not aggravate, but ease the last moments of our son,&rdquo;
+resolved the colonel firmly, and he carefully weighed every possible phase of
+the conversation, every act and movement that might take place on the following
+day. But somehow he became confused, forgetting what he had prepared, and he
+wept bitterly in the corner of the oilcloth-covered couch. In the morning he
+explained to his wife how she should behave at the meeting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The main thing is, kiss&mdash;and say nothing!&rdquo; he taught her.
+&ldquo;Later you may speak&mdash;after a while&mdash;but when you kiss him, be
+silent. Don&rsquo;t speak right after the kiss, do you understand? Or you will
+say what you should not say.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I understand, Nikolay Sergeyevich,&rdquo; answered the mother, weeping.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And you must not weep. For God&rsquo;s sake, do not weep! You will kill
+him if you weep, old woman!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why do you weep?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;With women one cannot help weeping. But you must not weep, do you
+hear?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well, Nikolay Sergeyevich.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Riding in the drozhky, he had intended to school her in the instructions again,
+but he forgot. And so they rode in silence, bent, both gray and old, and they
+were lost in thought, while the city was gay and noisy. It was Shrovetide, and
+the streets were crowded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They sat down. Then the colonel stood up, assumed a studied pose, placing his
+right hand upon the border of his coat. Sergey sat for an instant, looked
+closely upon the wrinkled face of his mother and then jumped up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Be seated, Seryozhenka,&rdquo; begged the mother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sit down, Sergey,&rdquo; repeated the father.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They became silent. The mother smiled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How we have petitioned for you, Seryozhenka! Father&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You should not have done that, mother&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The colonel spoke firmly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We had to do it, Sergey, so that you should not think your parents had
+forsaken you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They became silent again. It was terrible for them to utter even a word, as
+though each word in the language had lost its individual meaning and meant but
+one thing&mdash;Death. Sergey looked at his father&rsquo;s coat, which smelt of
+benzine, and thought: &ldquo;They have no servant now, consequently he must
+have cleaned it himself. How is it that I never before noticed when he cleaned
+his coat? I suppose he does it in the morning.&rdquo; Suddenly he asked:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And how is sister? Is she well?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ninochka does not know anything,&rdquo; the mother answered hastily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The colonel interrupted her sternly: &ldquo;Why should you tell a falsehood?
+The child read it in the newspapers. Let Sergey know that everybody&mdash;that
+those who are dearest to him&mdash;were thinking of him&mdash;at this
+time&mdash;and&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He could not say any more and stopped. Suddenly the mother&rsquo;s face
+contracted, then it spread out, became agitated, wet and wild-looking. Her
+discolored eyes stared blindly, and her breathing became more frequent, and
+briefer, louder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Se&mdash;Se&mdash;Se&mdash;Ser&mdash;&rdquo; she repeated without moving
+her lips. &ldquo;Ser&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dear mother!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The colonel strode forward, and all quivering in every fold of his coat, in
+every wrinkle of his face, not understanding how terrible he himself looked in
+his death-like whiteness, in his heroic, desperate firmness. He said to his
+wife:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Be silent! Don&rsquo;t torture him! Don&rsquo;t torture him! He has to
+die! Don&rsquo;t torture him!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Frightened, she had already become silent, but he still shook his clenched
+fists before him and repeated:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t torture him!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then he stepped back, placed his trembling hands behind his back, and loudly,
+with an expression of forced calm, asked with pale lips:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;When?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To-morrow morning,&rdquo; answered Sergey, his lips also pale.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The mother looked at the ground, chewing her lips, as if she did not hear
+anything. And continuing to chew, she uttered these simple words, strangely, as
+though they dropped like lead:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ninochka told me to kiss you, Seryozhenka.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Kiss her for me,&rdquo; said Sergey.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well. The Khvostovs send you their regards.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Which Khvostovs? Oh, yes!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The colonel interrupted:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, we must go. Get up, mother; we must go.&rdquo; The two men lifted
+the weakened old woman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bid him good-by!&rdquo; ordered the colonel. &ldquo;Make the sign of the
+cross.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She did everything as she was told. But as she made the sign of the cross, and
+kissed her son a brief kiss, she shook her head and murmured weakly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, it isn&rsquo;t the right way! It is not the right way! What will I
+say? How will I say it? No, it is not the right way!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good-by, Sergey!&rdquo; said the father. They shook hands, and kissed
+each other quickly but heartily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&mdash;&rdquo; began Sergey.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well?&rdquo; asked the father abruptly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no! It is not the right way! How shall I say it?&rdquo; repeated the
+mother weakly, nodding her head. She had sat down again and was rocking herself
+back and forth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&mdash;&rdquo; Sergey began again. Suddenly his face wrinkled
+pitiably, childishly, and his eyes filled with tears immediately. Through the
+sparkling gleams of his tears he looked closely into the white face of his
+father, whose eyes had also filled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You, father, are a noble man!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is that? What are you saying?&rdquo; said the colonel, surprised.
+And then suddenly, as if broken in two, he fell with his head upon his
+son&rsquo;s shoulder. He had been taller than Sergey, but now he became short,
+and his dry, downy head lay like a white ball upon his son&rsquo;s shoulder.
+And they kissed silently and passionately: Sergey kissed the silvery white
+hair, and the old man kissed the prisoner&rsquo;s garb.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And I?&rdquo; suddenly said a loud voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They looked around. Sergey&rsquo;s mother was standing, her head thrown back,
+looking at them angrily, almost with contempt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is it, mother?&rdquo; cried the colonel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And I?&rdquo; she said, shaking her head with insane intensity.
+&ldquo;You kiss&mdash;and I? You men! Yes? And I? And I?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mother!&rdquo; Sergey rushed over to her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What took place then it is unnecessary and impossible to describe... .
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The last words of the colonel were:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I give you my blessing for your death, Seryozha. Die bravely, like an
+officer.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And they went away. Somehow they went away. They had been there, they had
+stood, they had spoken&mdash;and suddenly they had gone. Here sat his mother,
+there stood his father&mdash;and suddenly somehow they had gone away. Returning
+to the cell, Sergey lay down on the cot, his face turned toward the wall, in
+order to hide it from the soldiers, and he wept for a long time. Then,
+exhausted by his tears, he slept soundly.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+To Vasily Kashirin only his mother came. His father, who was a wealthy
+tradesman, did not want to come. Vasily met the old woman, as he was pacing up
+and down the room, trembling with cold, although it was warm, even hot. And the
+conversation was brief, painful.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It wasn&rsquo;t worth coming, mother. You&rsquo;ll only torture yourself
+and me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why did you do it, Vasya? Why did you do it? Oh, Lord!&rdquo; The old
+woman burst out weeping, wiping her face with the ends of her black, woolen
+kerchief. And with the habit which he and his brothers had always had of crying
+at their mother, who did not understand anything, he stopped, and, shuddering
+as with cold, spoke angrily:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There! You see! I knew it! You understand nothing, mother!
+Nothing!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well&mdash;well&mdash;all right! Do you feel&mdash;cold?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Cold!&rdquo; Vasily answered bluntly, and again began to pace the room,
+looking at his mother askance, as if annoyed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps you have caught cold?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, mother what is a cold, when&mdash;&rdquo; and he waved his hand
+helplessly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The old woman was about to say: &ldquo;And your father ordered wheat cakes
+beginning with Monday,&rdquo; but she was frightened, and said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I told him: &lsquo;It is your son, you should go, give him your
+blessing.&rsquo; No, the old beast persisted&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let him go to the devil! What sort of father has he been to me? He has
+been a scoundrel all his life, and remains a scoundrel!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Vasenka! Do you speak of your father like this?&rdquo; said the old
+woman reproachfully, straightening herself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;About my father!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;About your own father?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He is no father to me!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was strange and absurd. Before him was the thought of death, while here
+something small, empty and trivial arose, and his words cracked like the shells
+of nuts under foot. And almost crying with sorrow&mdash;because of the eternal
+misunderstanding which all his life long had stood like a wall between him and
+those nearest to him, and which even now, in the last hour before death, peered
+at him stupidly and strangely through small, widely opened eyes&mdash;Vasily
+exclaimed:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you understand that I am to be hanged soon? Hanged! Do you
+understand it? Hanged!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You shouldn&rsquo;t have harmed anybody and nobody would&mdash;&rdquo;
+cried the old woman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My God! What is this? Even beasts do not act like this! Am I not your
+son?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He began to cry, and seated himself in a corner. The old woman also burst out
+crying in her corner. Powerless, even for an instant, to blend in a feeling of
+love and to offset by it the horror of impending death, they wept their cold
+tears of loneliness which did not warm their hearts. The mother said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You ask whether I am a mother to you? You reproach me! And I have grown
+completely gray during these days. I have become an old woman. And yet you
+say&mdash;you reproach me!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, mother, it is all right. Forgive me. It is time for you to go.
+Kiss my brothers for me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Am I not your mother? Do I not feel sorry?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last she went away. She wept bitterly, wiping her face with the edges of her
+kerchief, and she did not see the road. And the farther she got from the prison
+the more bitterly she wept. She retraced her steps to the prison, and then she
+strangely lost her way in the city in which she had been born, in which she
+lived to her old age. She strolled into a deserted little garden with a few
+old, gnarled trees, and she seated herself upon a wet bench, from which the
+snow had melted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And suddenly she understood. He was to be hanged upon the morrow!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The old woman jumped up, about to run, but suddenly her head began to swim
+terribly and she fell to the ground. The icy path was wet and slippery, and she
+could not rise. She turned about, lifted herself on her elbows and knelt, then
+fell back on her side. The black kerchief had slipped down, baring upon the
+back of her head a bald spot amid her muddy-gray hair; and then somehow it
+seemed to her that she was feasting at a wedding, that her son was getting
+married, and she had been drinking wine and had become intoxicated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t! My God! I can&rsquo;t!&rdquo; she cried, as though
+declining something. Swaying her head, she crawled over the wet, frozen crust,
+and all the time it seemed to her that they were pouring out more wine for her,
+more wine!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And her heart had already begun to pain her from her intoxicated laughter, from
+the rejoicing, from the wild dancing&mdash;and they kept on pouring more wine
+for her&mdash;pouring more wine!
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h3><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER VI<br/>THE HOURS ARE RUSHING</h3>
+
+<p>
+On the fortress where the condemned terrorists were imprisoned there was a
+steeple with an old-fashioned clock upon it. At every hour, at every half-hour,
+and at every quarter-hour the clock rang out in long-drawn, mournful chimes,
+slowly melting high in the air, like the distant and plaintive call of
+migrating birds. In the daytime, this strange and sad music was lost in the
+noise of the city, of the wide and crowded street which passed near the
+fortress. The cars buzzed along, the hoofs of the horses beat upon the
+pavements, the rocking automobiles honked in the distance, peasant izvozchiks
+had come especially from the outskirts of the city for the Shrovetide season
+and the tinkling of the bells upon the necks of their little horses filled the
+air. The prattle of voices&mdash;an intoxicated, merry Shrovetide prattle of
+voices arose everywhere. And in the midst of these various noises there was the
+young thawing spring, the muddy pools on the meadows, the trees of the squares
+which had suddenly become black. From the sea a warm breeze was blowing in
+broad, moist gusts. It was almost as if one could have seen the tiny fresh
+particles of air carried away, merged into the free, endless expanse of the
+atmosphere&mdash;could have heard them laughing in their flight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At night the street grew quiet in the lonely light of the large, electric sun.
+And then, the enormous fortress, within whose walls there was not a single
+light, passed into darkness and silence, separating itself from the ever
+living, stirring city by a wall of silence, motionlessness and darkness. Then
+it was that the strokes of the clock became audible. A strange melody, foreign
+to earth, was slowly and mournfully born and died out up in the heights. It was
+born again; deceiving the ear, it rang plaintively and softly&mdash;it broke
+off&mdash;and rang again. Like large, transparent, glassy drops, hours and
+minutes descended from an unknown height into a metallic, softly resounding
+bell.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was the only sound that reached the cells, by day and night, where the
+condemned remained in solitary confinement. Through the roof, through the
+thickness of the stone walls, it penetrated, stirring the silence&mdash;it
+passed unnoticed, to return again, also unnoticed. Sometimes they awaited it in
+despair, living from one sound to the next, trusting the silence no longer.
+Only important criminals were sent to this prison. There were special rules
+there, stern, grim and severe, like the corner of the fortress wall, and if
+there be nobility in cruelty, then the dull, dead, solemnly mute silence, which
+caught the slightest rustle and breathing, was noble.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And in this solemn silence, broken by the mournful tolling of the departing
+minutes, separated from all that lives, five human beings, two women and three
+men, waited for the advent of night, of dawn and the execution, and all of them
+prepared for it, each in his or her own way.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h3><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER VII<br/>THERE IS NO DEATH</h3>
+
+<p>
+Just as Tanya Kovalchuk had thought all her life only of others and never of
+herself, so now she suffered and grieved painfully, but only for her comrades.
+She pictured death, only as awaiting them, as something tormenting only to
+Sergey Golovin, to Musya, to the others&mdash;as for herself, it did not
+concern her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As a recompense for her firmness and restraint in the courtroom she wept for
+long hours, as old women who have experienced great misery, or as very
+sympathetic and kind-hearted young people know how to weep. And the fear that
+perhaps Seryozha was without tobacco or Werner without the strong tea to which
+he was accustomed, in addition to the fact that they were to die, caused her no
+less pain than the idea of the execution itself. Death was something inevitable
+and even unimportant, of which it was not worth while to think; but for a man
+in prison, before his execution, to be left without tobacco&mdash;that was
+altogether unbearable. She recalled and went over in her mind all the pleasant
+details of their life together, and then she grew faint with fear when she
+pictured to herself the meeting between Sergey and his parents.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She felt particularly sorry for Musya. It had long seemed to her that Musya
+loved Werner, and although this was not a fact, she still dreamed of something
+good and bright for both of them. When she had been free, Musya had worn a
+silver ring, on which was the design of a skull, bones, and a crown of thorns
+about them. Tanya Kovalchuk had often looked upon the ring as a symbol of doom,
+and she would ask Musya, now in jest, now in earnest, to remove the ring.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Make me a present of it,&rdquo; she had begged.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, Tanechka, I will not give it to you. But perhaps you will soon have
+another ring upon your finger.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For some reason or other they all in turn had thought that she would doubtless
+soon marry, and this had offended her&mdash;she wanted no husband. And
+recalling these half-jesting conversations with Musya, and the fact that now
+Musya was actually condemned to death, she choked with tears in her maternal
+pity. And each time the clock struck she raised her tear-stained face and
+listened&mdash;how were they in the other cells receiving this drawn-out,
+persistent call of death?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Musya was happy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With her hands folded behind her back, dressed in a prisoner&rsquo;s garb which
+was much too large for her, and which made her look very much like a
+man&mdash;like a stripling dressed in some one else&rsquo;s clothes&mdash;she
+paced her cell evenly and tirelessly. The sleeves of the coat were too long for
+her, and she turned them up, and her thin, almost childish, emaciated hands
+peeped out of the wide holes like a beautiful flower out of a coarse earthen
+jug. The rough material of the coat rubbed her thin white neck, and sometimes
+Musya would free her throat with both hands and would cautiously feel the spot
+where the irritated skin was red and smarted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Musya paced the cell, and, blushing in agitation, she imagined that she was
+justifying herself before the people. She tried to justify herself for the fact
+that she, who was so young, so insignificant, who had done so little, and who
+was not at all a heroine, was yet to undergo the same honorable and beautiful
+death by which real heroes and martyrs had died before her. With unshakable
+faith in human kindness, in their compassion, in their love, she pictured to
+herself how people were now agitated on her account, how they suffered, how
+they pitied her, and she felt so ashamed that she blushed, as if, by dying upon
+the scaffold, she had committed some tremendous, awkward blunder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the last meeting with their counsel she had asked him to bring her poison,
+but suddenly she had changed her mind. What if he and the others, she thought,
+should consider that she was doing it merely to become conspicuous, or out of
+cowardice, that instead of dying modestly and unnoticed, she was attempting to
+glorify herself. And she added hastily:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, it isn&rsquo;t necessary.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And now she desired but one thing&mdash;to be able to explain to people, to
+prove to them so that they should have not the slightest doubt that she was not
+at all a heroine, that it was not terrible to die, that they should not feel
+sorry for her, nor trouble themselves about her. She wished to be able to
+explain to them that she was not at all to blame that she, who was so young and
+so insignificant, was to undergo such a martyr&rsquo;s death, and that so much
+trouble should be made on her account.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Like a person who is actually accused of a crime, Musya sought justification.
+She endeavored to find something that would at least make her sacrifice more
+momentous, which might give it real value. She reasoned:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course, I am young and could have lived for a long time.
+But&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And as a candle darkens in the glare of the rising sun, so her youth and her
+life seemed dull and dark compared to that great and resplendent radiance which
+would shine above her simple head. There was no justification.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But perhaps that peculiar something which she bore in her soul&mdash;boundless
+love, boundless eagerness to do great deeds, her boundless contempt for
+herself&mdash;was a justification in itself. She felt that she was really not
+to blame that she was hindered from doing the things she could have done, which
+she had wished to do&mdash;that she had been smitten upon the threshold of the
+temple, at the foot of the altar.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But if that were so, if a person is appreciated not only for what he has done,
+but also for what he had intended to do&mdash;then&mdash;then she was worthy of
+the crown of the martyr!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is it possible?&rdquo; thought Musya bashfully. &ldquo;Is it possible
+that I am worthy of it? That I deserve that people should weep for me, should
+be agitated over my fate, over such a little and insignificant girl?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And she was seized with sudden joy. There were no doubts, no
+hesitations&mdash;she was received into their midst&mdash;she entered justified
+the ranks of those noble people who always ascend to heaven through fires,
+tortures and executions. Bright peace and tranquillity and endless, calmly
+radiant happiness! It was as if she had already departed from earth and was
+nearing the unknown sun of truth and life, and was incorporeally soaring in
+its light.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And that is&mdash;Death? That is not Death!&rdquo; thought Musya
+blissfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And if scientists, philosophers and hangmen from the world over should come to
+her cell, spreading before her books, scalpels, axes and nooses, and were to
+attempt to prove to her that Death existed, that a human being dies and is
+killed, that there is no immortality, they would only surprise her. How could
+there be no deathlessness, since she was already deathless? Of what other
+deathlessness, of what other death, could there be a question, since she was
+already dead and immortal, alive in death, as she had been dead in life?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And if a coffin were brought into her cell with her own decomposing body in it,
+and she were told:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Look! That is you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She would look and would answer:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, it is not I.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And if they should attempt to convince her, frightening her by the ominous
+sight of her own decomposed body, that it was she&mdash;she, Musya, would
+answer with a smile:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. You think that it is I, but it isn&rsquo;t. I am the one you are
+speaking to; how can I be the other one?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But you will die and become like that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I will not die.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You will be executed. Here is the noose.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will be executed, but I will not die. How can I die, when I am
+already&mdash;now&mdash;immortal?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And the scientists and philosophers and hangmen would retreat,
+speaking&mdash;with a shudder:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do not touch this place. It is holy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What else was Musya thinking about? She was thinking of many things, for to her
+the thread of life was not broken by Death, but kept winding along calmly and
+evenly. She thought of her comrades, of those who were far away, and who in
+pain and sorrow were living through the execution together with them, and of
+those near by who were to mount the scaffold with her. She was surprised at
+Vasily&mdash;that he should have been so disturbed&mdash;he, who had always
+been so brave, and who had jested with Death. Thus, only on Tuesday morning,
+when all together they had attached explosive projectiles to their belts, which
+several hours later were to tear them into pieces, Tanya Kovalchuk&rsquo;s
+hands had trembled with nervousness, and it had become necessary to put her
+aside, while Vasily jested, made merry, turned about, and was even so reckless
+that Werner had said sternly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You must not be too familiar with Death.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What was he afraid of now? But this incomprehensible fear was so foreign to
+Musya&rsquo;s soul that she ceased searching for the cause of it&mdash;and
+suddenly she was seized with a desperate desire to see Seryozha Golovin, to
+laugh with him. She meditated a little while, and then an even more desperate
+desire came over her to see Werner and to convince him of something. And
+imagining to herself that Werner was in the next cell, driving his heels into
+the ground with his distinct, measured steps, Musya spoke, as if addressing
+him:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, Werner, my dear; it is all nonsense; it isn&rsquo;t at all important
+whether or not you are killed. You are a sensible man, but you seem to be
+playing chess, and that by taking one figure after another the game is won. The
+important thing, Werner, is that we ourselves are ready to die. Do you
+understand? What do those people think? That there is nothing more terrible
+than death. They themselves have invented Death, they are themselves afraid of
+it, and they try to frighten us with it. I should like to do this&mdash;I
+should like to go out alone before a whole regiment of soldiers and fire upon
+them with a revolver. It would not matter that I would be alone, while they
+would be thousands, or that I might not kill any of them. It is that which is
+important&mdash;that they are thousands. When thousands kill one, it means that
+the one has conquered. That is true, Werner, my dear....&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But this, too, became so clear to her that she did not feel like arguing
+further&mdash;Werner must understand it himself. Perhaps her mind simply did
+not want to stop at one thought&mdash;just as a bird that soars with ease,
+which sees endless horizons, and to which all space, all the depth, all the joy
+of the soft and caressing azure are accessible. The bell of the clock rang
+unceasingly, disturbing the deep silence. And into this harmonious, remote,
+beautiful sound the thoughts of the people flowed, and also began to ring for
+her; and the smoothly gliding images turned into music. It was just as if, on a
+quiet, dark night, Musya was riding along a broad, even road, while the easy
+springs of the carriage rocked her and the little bells tinkled. All alarm and
+agitation had passed, the fatigued body had dissolved in the darkness, and her
+joyously wearied fancy calmly created bright images, carried away by their
+color and their peaceful tranquillity. Musya recalled three of her comrades who
+had been hanged but a short time before, and their faces seemed bright and
+happy and near to her&mdash;nearer than those in life. Thus does a man think
+with joy in the morning of the house of his friends where he is to go in the
+evening, and a greeting rises to his smiling lips.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Musya became very tired from walking. She lay down cautiously on the cot and
+continued to dream with slightly closed eyes. The clock-bell rang unceasingly,
+stirring the mute silence, and bright, singing images floated calmly before
+her. Musya thought:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is it possible that this is Death? My God! How beautiful it is! Or is it
+Life? I do not know. I do not know. I will look and listen.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her hearing had long given way to her imagination&mdash;from the first moment
+of her imprisonment. Inclined to be very musical, her ear had become keen in
+the silence, and on this background of silence, out of the meagre bits of
+reality, the footsteps of the guards in the corridors, the ringing of the
+clock, the rustling of the wind on the iron roof, the creaking of the
+lantern&mdash;it created complete musical pictures. At first Musya was afraid
+of them, brushed them away from her as if they were the hallucinations of a
+sickly mind. But later she understood that she herself was well, and that this
+was no derangement of any kind&mdash;and she gave herself up to the dreams
+calmly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And now, suddenly, she seemed to hear clearly and distinctly the sounds of
+military music. In astonishment, she opened her eyes, lifted her
+head&mdash;outside the window was black night, and the clock was striking.
+&ldquo;Again,&rdquo; she thought calmly, and closed her eyes. And as soon as
+she did so the music resounded anew. She could hear distinctly how the
+soldiers, a whole regiment, were coming from behind the corner of the fortress,
+on the right, and now they were passing her window. Their feet beat time with
+measured steps upon the frozen ground: One&mdash;two! One&mdash;two! She could
+even hear at times the leather of the boots creaking, how suddenly some
+one&rsquo;s foot slipped and immediately recovered its steps. And the music
+came ever nearer&mdash;it was an entirely unfamiliar but a very loud and
+spirited holiday march. Evidently there was some sort of celebration in the
+fortress.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now the band came up alongside of her window and the cell was filled with
+merry, rhythmic, harmoniously blended sounds. One large brass trumpet brayed
+harshly out of tune, now too late, now comically running ahead&mdash;Musya
+could almost see the little soldier playing it, a great expression of
+earnestness on his face&mdash;and she laughed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then everything moved away. The footsteps died out&mdash;One&mdash;two!
+One&mdash;two! At a distance the music sounded still more beautiful and
+cheerful. The trumpet resounded now and then with its merry, loud brass voice,
+out of tune,&mdash;and then everything died away. And the clock on the tower
+struck again, slowly, mournfully, hardly stirring the silence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They are gone!&rdquo; thought Musya, with a feeling of slight sadness.
+She felt sorry for the departing sounds, which had been so cheerful and so
+comical. She was even sorry for the departed little soldiers, because those
+busy soldiers, with their brass trumpets and their creaking boots, were of an
+entirely different sort, not at all like those at whom she had felt like firing
+a revolver.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come again!&rdquo; she begged tenderly. And more came. The figures bent
+over her, they surrounded her in a transparent cloud and lifted her up, where
+the migrating birds were soaring and screaming, like heralds. On the right of
+her, on the left, above and below her&mdash;they screamed like heralds. They
+called, they announced from afar their flight. They flapped their wide wings
+and the darkness supported them, even as the light had supported them. And on
+their convex breasts, cleaving the air asunder, the city far below reflected a
+blue light. Musya&rsquo;s heart beat ever more evenly, her breathing grew ever
+more calm and quiet. She was falling asleep. Her face looked fatigued and pale.
+Beneath her eyes were dark circles, her girlish, emaciated hands seemed so
+thin,&mdash;but upon her lips was a smile. To-morrow, with the rise of the sun,
+this human face would be distorted with an inhuman grimace, her brain would be
+covered with thick blood, and her eyes would bulge from their sockets and look
+glassy,&mdash;but now she slept quietly and smiled in her great immortality.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Musya fell asleep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And the life of the prison went on, deaf and sensitive, blind and
+sharp-sighted, like eternal alarm itself. Somewhere people were walking.
+Somewhere people were whispering. A gun clanked. It seemed as if some one
+shouted. Perhaps no one shouted at all&mdash;perhaps it merely seemed so in the
+silence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The little casement window in the door opened noiselessly. A dark, mustached
+face appeared in the black hole. For a long time it stared at Musya in
+astonishment&mdash;and then disappeared as noiselessly as it had appeared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The bells rang and sang, for a long time, painfully. It seemed as if the tired
+Hours were climbing up a high mountain toward midnight, and that it was
+becoming ever harder and harder to ascend. They fall, they slip, they slide
+down with a groan&mdash;and then again, they climb painfully toward the black
+height.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Somewhere people were walking. Somewhere people were whispering. And they were
+already harnessing the horses to the black carriages without lanterns.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h3><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER VIII<br/>THERE IS DEATH AS WELL AS LIFE</h3>
+
+<p>
+Sergey Golovin never thought of death, as though it were something not to be
+considered, something that did not concern him in the least. He was a strong,
+healthy, cheerful youth, endowed with that calm, clear joy of living which
+causes every evil thought and feeling that might injure life to disappear from
+the organism without leaving any trace. Just as all cuts, wounds and stings on
+his body healed rapidly, so all that weighed upon his soul and wounded it
+immediately rose to the surface and disappeared. And he brought into every
+work, even into his enjoyments, the same calm and optimistic
+seriousness,&mdash;it mattered not whether he was occupied with photography,
+with bicycling or with preparations for a terroristic act. Everything in life
+was joyous, everything in life was important, everything should be done well.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And he did everything well: he was an excellent sailor, an expert shot with the
+revolver. He was as faithful in friendship as in love, and a fanatic believer
+in the &ldquo;word of honor.&rdquo; His comrades laughed at him, saying that if
+the most notorious spy told him upon his word of honor that he was not a spy,
+Sergey would believe him and would shake hands with him as with any comrade. He
+had one fault,&mdash;he was convinced that he could sing well, whereas in fact
+he had no ear for music and even sang the revolutionary songs out of tune, and
+felt offended when his friends laughed at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Either you are all asses, or I am an ass,&rdquo; he would declare
+seriously and even angrily. And all his friends as seriously declared:
+&ldquo;You are an ass. We can tell by your voice.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But, as is sometimes the case with good people, he was perhaps liked more for
+this little foible than for his good qualities.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He feared death so little and thought of it so little that on the fatal
+morning, before leaving the house of Tanya Kovalchuk, he was the only one who
+had breakfasted properly, with an appetite. He drank two glasses of tea with
+milk, and a whole five-copeck roll of bread. Then he glanced at Werner&rsquo;s
+untouched bread and said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you eat? Eat. We must brace up.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t feel like eating.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then I&rsquo;ll eat it. May I?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have a fine appetite, Seryozha.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Instead of answering, Sergey, his mouth full, began to sing in a dull voice,
+out of tune:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hostile whirlwinds are blowing over us...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After the arrest he at first grew sad; the work had not been done well, they
+had failed; but then he thought: &ldquo;There is something else now that must
+be done well&mdash;and that is, to die,&rdquo; and he cheered up again. And
+however strange it may seem, beginning with the second morning in the fortress,
+he commenced devoting himself to gymnastics according to the unusually rational
+system of a certain German named Müller, which absorbed his interest. He
+undressed himself completely and, to the alarm and astonishment of the guard
+who watched him, he carefully went through all the prescribed eighteen
+exercises. The fact that the guard watched him and was apparently astonished,
+pleased him as a propagandist of the Müller system; and although he knew that
+he would get no answer he nevertheless spoke to the eye staring in the little
+window:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a good system, my friend, it braces you up. It should be
+introduced in your regiment,&rdquo; he shouted convincingly and kindly, so as
+not to frighten the soldier, not suspecting that the guard considered him a
+harmless lunatic.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The fear of death came over him gradually. It was as if somebody were striking
+his heart a powerful blow with the fist from below. This sensation was rather
+painful than terrible. Then the sensation was forgotten, but it returned again
+a few hours later, and each time it grew more intense and of longer duration,
+and thus it began to assume vague outlines of some great, even unbearable fear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is it possible that I am afraid?&rdquo; thought Sergey in astonishment.
+&ldquo;What nonsense!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was not he who was afraid,&mdash;it was his young, sound, strong body, which
+could not be deceived either by the exercises prescribed by the Müller system,
+or by the cold rub-downs. On the contrary, the stronger and the fresher his
+body became after the cold water, the keener and the more unbearable became the
+sensations of his recurrent fear. And just at those moments when, during his
+freedom, he had felt a special influx of the joy and power of life,&mdash;in
+the mornings after he had slept soundly and gone through his physical
+exercises,&mdash;now there appeared this deadening fear which was so foreign to
+his nature. He noticed this and thought:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is foolish, Sergey! To die more easily, you should weaken the body
+and not strengthen it. It is foolish!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So he dropped his gymnastics and the rub-downs. To the soldier he shouted, as
+if to explain and justify himself:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never mind that I have stopped. It&rsquo;s a good thing, my
+friend,&mdash;but not for those who are to be hanged. But it&rsquo;s very good
+for all others.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And, indeed, he began to feel somewhat better. He tried also to eat less, so as
+to grow still weaker, but notwithstanding the lack of pure air and exercises,
+his appetite was very good,&mdash;it was difficult for him to control it, and
+he ate everything that was brought to him. Then he began to manage
+differently&mdash;before starting to eat he would pour out half into the pail,
+and this seemed to work. A dull drowsiness and faintness came over him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll show you what I can do!&rdquo; he threatened his body, and at
+the same time sadly, yet tenderly he felt his flabby, softened muscles with his
+hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Soon, however, his body grew accustomed to this regime as well, and the fear of
+death appeared again&mdash;not so keen, nor so burning, but more disgusting,
+somewhat akin to a nauseating sensation. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s because they are
+dragging it out so long,&rdquo; thought Sergey. &ldquo;It would be a good idea
+to sleep all the time till the day of the execution,&rdquo; and he tried to
+sleep as much as possible. At first he succeeded, but later, either because he
+had slept too much, or for some other reason, insomnia appeared. And with it
+came eager, penetrating thoughts and a longing for life.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am not afraid of this devil!&rdquo; he thought of Death. &ldquo;I
+simply feel sorry for my life. It is a splendid thing, no matter what the
+pessimists say about it. What if they were to hang a pessimist? Ah, I feel
+sorry for life, very sorry! And why does my beard grow now? It didn&rsquo;t
+grow before, but suddenly it grows&mdash;why?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He shook his head mournfully, heaving long, painful sighs. Silence&mdash;then a
+sigh; then a brief silence again&mdash;followed by a longer, deeper sigh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus it went on until the trial and the terrible meeting with his parents. When
+he awoke in his cell the next day he realized clearly that everything between
+him and life was ended, that there were only a few empty hours of waiting and
+then death would come,&mdash;and a strange sensation took possession of him. He
+felt as though he had been stripped, stripped entirely,&mdash;as if not only
+his clothes, but the sun, the air, the noise of voices and his ability to do
+things had been wrested from him. Death was not there as yet, but life was
+there no longer,&mdash;there was something new, something astonishing,
+inexplicable, not entirely reasonable and yet not altogether without
+meaning,&mdash;something so deep and mysterious and supernatural that it was
+impossible to understand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fie, you devil!&rdquo; wondered Sergey, painfully. &ldquo;What is this?
+Where am I? I&mdash;who am I?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He examined himself attentively, with interest, beginning with his large prison
+slippers, ending with his stomach where his coat protruded. He paced the cell,
+spreading out his arms and continuing to survey himself like a woman in a new
+dress which is too long for her. He tried to turn his head, and it turned. And
+this strange, terrible, uncouth creature was he, Sergey Golovin, and soon he
+would be no more!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Everything became strange.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He tried to walk across the cell&mdash;and it seemed strange to him that he
+could walk. He tried to sit down&mdash;and it seemed strange to him that he
+could sit. He tried to drink some water&mdash;and it seemed strange to him that
+he could drink, that he could swallow, that he could hold the cup, that he had
+fingers and that those fingers were trembling. He choked, began to cough and
+while coughing, thought: &ldquo;How strange it is that I am coughing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Am I losing my reason?&rdquo; thought Sergey, growing cold. &ldquo;Am I
+coming to that, too? The devil take them!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He rubbed his forehead with his hand, and this also seemed strange to him. And
+then he remained breathless, motionless, petrified for hours, suppressing every
+thought, all loud breathing, all motion,&mdash;for every thought seemed to him
+but madness, every motion&mdash;madness. Time was no more; it appeared
+transformed into space, airless and transparent, into an enormous square upon
+which all were there&mdash;the earth and life and people. He saw all that at
+one glance, all to the very end, to the mysterious abyss&mdash;Death. And he
+was tortured not by the fact that Death was visible, but that both Life and
+Death were visible at the same time. The curtain which through eternity has
+hidden the mystery of life and the mystery of death was pushed aside by a
+sacrilegious hand, and the mysteries ceased to be mysteries&mdash;yet they
+remained incomprehensible, like the Truth written in a foreign tongue. There
+were no conceptions in his human mind, no words in his human language that
+could define what he saw. And the words &ldquo;I am afraid&rdquo; were uttered
+by him only because there were no other words, because no other conceptions
+existed, nor could other conceptions exist which would grasp this new, un-human
+condition. Thus would it be with a man if, while remaining within the bounds of
+human reason, experience and feelings, he were suddenly to see God Himself. He
+would see Him but would not understand, even though he knew that it was God,
+and he would tremble with inconceivable sufferings of incomprehension.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There is Müller for you!&rdquo; he suddenly uttered loudly, with extreme
+conviction, and shook his head. And with that unexpected break in his feelings,
+of which the human soul is so capable, he laughed heartily and cheerfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, Müller! My dear Müller! Oh, you splendid German! After all you are
+right, Müller, and I am an ass!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He paced the cell quickly several times and to the great astonishment of the
+soldier who was watching him through the peephole, he quickly undressed himself
+and cheerfully went through all the eighteen exercises with the greatest care.
+He stretched and expanded his young, somewhat emaciated body, sat down for a
+moment, drew deep breaths of air and exhaled it, stood up on tip-toe, stretched
+his arms and his feet. And after each exercise he announced, with satisfaction:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s it! That&rsquo;s the real way, Müller!&rdquo; His cheeks
+flushed; drops of warm, pleasant perspiration came from the pores of his body,
+and his heart beat soundly and evenly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The fact is, Müller,&rdquo; philosophized Sergey, expanding his chest so
+that the ribs under his thin, tight skin were outlined
+clearly,&mdash;&ldquo;the fact is, that there is a nineteenth exercise&mdash;to
+hang by the neck motionless. That is called execution. Do you understand,
+Müller? They take a live man, let us say Sergey Golovin, they swaddle him as a
+doll and they hang him by the neck until he is dead. It is a foolish exercise,
+Müller, but it can&rsquo;t be helped,&mdash;we have to do it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He bent over on the right side and repeated:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We have to do it, Müller.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h3><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER IX<br/>DREADFUL SOLITUDE</h3>
+
+<p>
+Under the same ringing of the clock, separated from Sergey and Musya by only a
+few empty cells, but yet so painfully desolate and alone in the whole world as
+though no other soul existed, poor Vasily Kashirin was passing the last hours
+of his life in terror and in anguish.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Perspiring, his moist shirt clinging to his body, his once curly hair
+disheveled, he tossed about in the cell convulsively and hopelessly, like a man
+suffering from an unbearable physical torture. He would sit down for awhile,
+then start to run again, he would press his forehead against the wall, stop and
+seek something with his eyes&mdash;as if looking for some medicine. His
+expression changed as though he had two different faces. The former, the young
+face, had disappeared somewhere, and a new one, a terrible face that had seemed
+to have come out of the darkness, had taken its place.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The fear of death had come upon him all at once and taken possession of him
+completely and forcibly. In the morning, while facing almost certain death, he
+had been care-free and had scorned it, but toward evening when he was placed in
+a cell in solitary confinement, he was whirled and carried away by a wave of
+mad fear. So long as he went of his own free will to face danger and death, so
+long as he had death, even though it seemed terrible, in his own hands, he felt
+at ease. He was even cheerful; in the sensation of boundless freedom, of brave
+and firm conviction of his fearless will, his little, shrunken, womanish fear
+was drowned, leaving no trace. With an infernal machine at his girdle, he made
+the cruel force of dynamite his own, also its fiery death-bearing power. And as
+he walked along the street, amidst the bustling, plain people, who were
+occupied with their affairs, who were hurriedly avoiding the dangers from the
+horses of carriages and cars, he seemed to himself as a stranger from another,
+unknown world, where neither death nor fear was known.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And suddenly this harsh, wild, stupefying change. He can no longer go where he
+pleases, but he is led where others please. He can no longer choose the place
+he likes, but he is placed in a stone cage, and locked up like a thing. He can
+no longer choose freely, like all people, between life and death, but he will
+surely and inevitably be put to death. The incarnation of will-power, life and
+strength an instant before, he has now become a wretched image of the most
+pitiful weakness in the world. He has been transformed into an animal waiting
+to be slaughtered, a deaf-mute object which may be taken from place to place,
+burnt and broken. It matters not what he might say, nobody would listen to his
+words, and if he endeavored to shout, they would stop his mouth with a rag.
+Whether he can walk alone or not, they will take him away and hang him. And if
+he should offer resistance, struggle or lie down on the ground&mdash;they will
+overpower him, lift him, bind him and carry him, bound, to the gallows. And the
+fact that this machine-like work will be performed over him by human beings
+like himself, lent to them a new, extraordinary and ominous aspect&mdash;they
+seemed to him like ghosts that came to him for this one purpose, or like
+automatic puppets on springs. They would seize him, take him, carry him, hang
+him, pull him by the feet. They would cut the rope, take him down, carry him
+off and bury him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+From the first day of his imprisonment the people and life seemed to him to
+have turned into an incomprehensibly terrible world of phantoms and automatic
+puppets. Almost maddened with fear, he attempted to picture to himself that
+human beings had tongues and that they could speak, but he could not&mdash;they
+seemed to him to be mute. He tried to recall their speech, the meaning of the
+words that people used in their relations with one another&mdash;but he could
+not. Their mouths seemed to open, some sounds were heard; then they moved their
+feet and disappeared. And nothing more.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus would a man feel if he were at night alone in his house and suddenly all
+objects were to come to life, start to move and overpower him. And suddenly
+they would all begin to judge him: the cupboard, the chair, the writing-table
+and the divan. He would cry and toss about, entreating, calling for help, while
+they would speak among themselves in their own language, and then would lead
+him to the scaffold,&mdash;they, the cupboard, the chair, the writing-table and
+the divan. And the other objects would look on.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To Vasily Kashirin, who was condemned to death by hanging, everything now
+seemed like children&rsquo;s playthings: his cell, the door with the peephole,
+the strokes of the wound-up clock, the carefully molded fortress, and
+especially that mechanical puppet with the gun who stamped his feet in the
+corridor, and the others who, frightening him, peeped into his cell through the
+little window and handed him the food in silence. And that which he was
+experiencing was not the fear of death; death was now rather welcome to him.
+Death with all its eternal mysteriousness and incomprehensibility was more
+acceptable to his reason than this strangely and fantastically changed world.
+What is more, death seemed to have been destroyed completely in this insane
+world of phantoms and puppets, having lost its great and enigmatic
+significance, becoming something mechanical and only for that reason terrible.
+He would be seized, taken, led, hanged, pulled by the feet, the rope would be
+cut, he would be taken down, carried off and buried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And the man would have disappeared from the world.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the trial the nearness of his comrades brought Kashirin to himself. For an
+instant he imagined he saw real people; they were sitting and trying him,
+speaking like human beings, listening, apparently understanding him. But as he
+mentally rehearsed the meeting with his mother he clearly felt with the terror
+of a man who is beginning to lose his reason and who realizes it, that this old
+woman in the black little kerchief was only an artificial, mechanical puppet,
+of the kind that can say &ldquo;pa-pa,&rdquo; &ldquo;ma-ma,&rdquo; but somewhat
+better constructed. He tried to speak to her, while thinking at the same time
+with a shudder:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;O Lord! That is a puppet. A mother doll. And there is a soldier-puppet,
+and there, at home, is a father-puppet, and this is the puppet of Vasily
+Kashirin.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It seemed to him that in another moment he would hear somewhere the creaking of
+the mechanism, the screeching of unoiled wheels. When his mother began to cry,
+something human again flashed for an instant, but at the very first words it
+disappeared again, and it was interesting and terrible to see that water was
+flowing from the eyes of the doll.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then, in his cell, when the terror had become unbearable, Vasily Kashirin
+attempted to pray. Of all that had surrounded his childhood days in his
+father&rsquo;s house under the guise of religion only a repulsive, bitter and
+irritating sediment remained; but faith there was none. But once, perhaps in
+his earliest childhood, he had heard a few words which had filled him with
+palpitating emotion and which remained during all his life enwrapped with
+tender poetry. These words were:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The joy of all the afflicted...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It had happened, during painful periods in his life, that he whispered to
+himself, not in prayer, without being definitely conscious of it, these words:
+&ldquo;The joy of all the afflicted&rdquo;&mdash;and suddenly he would feel
+relieved and a desire would come over him to go to some dear friend and
+question gently:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Our life&mdash;is this life? Eh, my dearest, is this life?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then suddenly it would appear laughable to him and he would feel like
+mussing up his hair, putting forth his knee and thrusting out his chest as
+though to receive heavy blows; saying: &ldquo;Here, strike!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He did not tell anybody, not even his nearest comrades, about his &ldquo;joy of
+all the afflicted&rdquo; and it was as though he himself did not know about
+it,&mdash;so deeply was it hidden in his soul. He recalled it but rarely and
+cautiously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now when the terror of the insoluble mystery, which appeared so plainly before
+him, enveloped him completely, even as the water in high-flood covers the
+willow twigs on the shore,&mdash;a desire came upon him to pray. He felt like
+kneeling, but he was ashamed of the soldier and, folding his arms on his chest,
+he whispered softly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The joy of all the afflicted!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And he repeated tenderly, in anguish:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Joy of all the afflicted, come to me, help Vaska Kashirin.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Long ago, while he was yet in his first term at the university and used
+to go off on a spree sometimes, before he had made the acquaintance of Werner
+and before he had entered the organization, he used then to call himself
+half-boastingly, half-pityingly, &ldquo;Vaska Kashirin,&rdquo;&mdash;and now
+for some reason or other he suddenly felt like calling himself by the same name
+again. But the words had a dead and toneless sound.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The joy of all the afflicted!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Something stirred. It was as though some one&rsquo;s calm and mournful image
+had flashed up in the distance and died out quietly, without illuminating the
+deathly gloom. The wound-up clock in the steeple struck. The soldier in the
+corridor made a noise with his gun or with his saber and he yawned, slowly, at
+intervals.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Joy of all the afflicted! You are silent! Will you not say anything to
+Vaska Kashirin?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He smiled patiently and waited. All was empty within his soul and about him.
+And the calm, mournful image did not reappear. He recalled, painfully and
+unnecessarily, wax candles burning; the priest in his vestments; the
+<i>ikon</i> painted on the wall. He recalled his father, bending and stretching
+himself, praying and bowing to the ground, while looking sidewise to see
+whether Vaska was praying, or whether he was planning some mischief. And a
+feeling of still greater terror came over Vasily than before the prayer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Everything now disappeared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Madness came crawling painfully. His consciousness was dying out like an
+extinguishing bonfire, growing icy like the corpse of a man who had just died,
+whose heart is still warm but whose hands and feet had already become stiffened
+with cold. His dying reason flared up as red as blood again and said that he,
+Vasily Kashirin, might perhaps become insane here, suffer pains for which there
+is no name, reach a degree of anguish and suffering that had never been
+experienced by a single living being; that he might beat his head against the
+wall, pick his eyes out with his fingers, speak and shout whatever he pleased,
+that he might plead with tears that he could endure it no longer,&mdash;and
+nothing would happen. Nothing could happen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And nothing happened. His feet, which had a consciousness and life of their
+own, continued to walk and to carry his trembling, moist body. His hands, which
+had a consciousness of their own, endeavored in vain to fasten the coat which
+was open at his chest and to warm his trembling, moist body. His body quivered
+with cold. His eyes stared. And this was calm itself embodied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But there was one more moment of wild terror. That was when people entered his
+cell. He did not even imagine that this visit meant that it was time to go to
+the execution; he simply saw the people and was frightened like a child.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will not do it! I will not do it!&rdquo; he whispered inaudibly with
+his livid lips and silently retreated to the depth of the cell, even as in
+childhood he shrank when his father lifted his hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We must start.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The people were speaking, walking around him, handing him something. He closed
+his eyes, he shook a little,&mdash;and began to dress himself slowly. His
+consciousness must have returned to him, for he suddenly asked the official for
+a cigarette. And the official generously opened his silver cigarette-case upon
+which was a chased figure in the style of the decadents.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h3><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER X<br/>THE WALLS ARE FALLING</h3>
+
+<p>
+The unidentified man, who called himself Werner, was tired of life and
+struggle. There was a time when he loved life very dearly, when he enjoyed the
+theater, literature and social intercourse. Endowed with an excellent memory
+and a firm will, he had mastered several European languages and could easily
+pass for a German, a Frenchman or an Englishman. He usually spoke German with a
+Bavarian accent, but when he felt like it, he could speak like a born Berliner.
+He was fond of dress, his manners were excellent and he alone, of all the
+members of the organization, dared attend the balls given in high society,
+without running the risk of being recognized as an outsider.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But for a long time, altogether unnoticed by his comrades, there had ripened in
+his soul a dark contempt for mankind; contempt mingled with despair and
+painful, almost deadly fatigue. By nature rather a mathematician than a poet,
+he had not known until now any inspiration, any ecstasy and at times he felt
+like a madman, looking for the squaring of a circle in pools of human blood.
+The enemy against whom he struggled every day could not inspire him with
+respect. It was a dense net of stupidity, treachery and falsehood, vile insults
+and base deceptions. The last incident which seemed to have destroyed in him
+forever the desire to live, was the murder of the provocateur which he had
+committed by order of the organization. He had killed him in cold blood, but
+when he saw that dead, deceitful, now calm, and after all pitiful, human face,
+he suddenly ceased to respect himself and his work. Not that he was seized with
+a feeling of repentance, but he simply stopped appreciating himself. He became
+uninteresting to himself, unimportant, a dull stranger. But being a man of
+strong, unbroken will-power, he did not leave the organization. He remained
+outwardly the same as before, only there was something cold, yet painful in his
+eyes. He never spoke to anyone of this.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He possessed another rare quality: just as there are people who have never
+known headaches, so Werner had never known fear. When other people were afraid,
+he looked upon them without censure but also without any particular compassion,
+just as upon a rather contagious illness from which, however, he himself had
+never suffered. He felt sorry for his comrades, especially for Vasya Kashirin;
+but that was a cold, almost official pity, which even some of the judges may
+have felt at times.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Werner understood that the execution was not merely death, that it was
+something different,&mdash;but he resolved to face it calmly, as something not
+to be considered; to live until the end as if nothing had happened and as if
+nothing could happen. Only in this way could he express his greatest contempt
+for capital punishment and preserve his last freedom of the spirit which could
+not be torn away from him. At the trial&mdash;and even his comrades who knew
+well his cold, haughty fearlessness would perhaps not have believed
+this,&mdash;he thought neither of death nor of life,&mdash;but concentrated his
+attention deeply and coolly upon a difficult chess game which he was playing. A
+superior chess player, he had started this game on the first day of his
+imprisonment and continued it uninterruptedly. Even the sentence condemning him
+to death by hanging did not remove a single figure from his imaginary
+chessboard.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Even the knowledge that he would not be able to finish this game, did not stop
+him; and the morning of the last day that he was to remain on earth he started
+by correcting a not altogether successful move he had made on the previous day.
+Clasping his lowered hands between his knees, he sat for a long time
+motionless, then he rose and began to walk, meditating. His walk was peculiar:
+he leaned the upper part of his body slightly forward and stamped the ground
+with his heels firmly and distinctly. His steps usually left deep, plain
+imprints even on dry ground. He whistled softly, in one breath, a simple
+Italian melody, which helped his meditation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But this time for some reason or other the thing did not work well. With an
+unpleasant feeling that he had made some important, even grave blunder, he went
+back several times and examined the game almost from the beginning. He found no
+blunder, yet the feeling about a blunder committed not only failed to leave
+him, but even grew ever more intense and unpleasant. Suddenly an unexpected and
+offensive thought came into his mind: Did the blunder perhaps consist in his
+playing chess simply because he wanted to distract his attention from the
+execution and thus shield himself against the fear of death which is apparently
+inevitable in every person condemned to death?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. What for?&rdquo; he answered coldly and closed calmly his imaginary
+chessboard. And with the same concentration with which he had played chess, he
+tried to give himself an account of the horror and the helplessness of his
+situation. As though he were going through a strict examination, he looked over
+the cell, trying not to let anything escape. He counted the hours that remained
+until the execution, made for himself an approximate and quite exact picture of
+the execution itself and shrugged his shoulders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well?&rdquo; he said to some one half-questioningly. &ldquo;Here it is.
+Where is the fear?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Indeed there was no fear. Not only was it not there, but something entirely
+different, the reverse of fear, developed&mdash;a sensation of confused, but
+enormous and savage joy. And the error, which he had not yet discovered, no
+longer called forth in him vexation or irritation,&mdash;it seemed to speak
+loudly of something good and unexpected, as though he had believed a dear
+friend of his to be dead, and that friend turned out to be alive, safe and
+sound and laughing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Werner again shrugged his shoulders and felt his pulse,&mdash;his heart was
+beating faster than usual, but soundly and evenly, with a specially ringing
+throb. He looked about once more, attentively, like a novice for the first time
+in prison,&mdash;examined the walls, the bolts, the chair which was screwed to
+the floor, and thought:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why do I feel so easy, so joyous and free? Yes, so free? I think of the
+execution to-morrow&mdash;and I feel as though it is not there. I look at the
+walls&mdash;and I feel as though they are not here, either. And I feel so free,
+as though I were not in prison, but had just come out of some prison where I
+had spent all my life. What does this mean?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His hands began to tremble,&mdash;something Werner had not experienced before.
+His thoughts fluttered ever more furiously. It was as if tongues of fire had
+flashed up in his mind, and the fire wanted to burst forth and illumine the
+distance which was still dark as night. Now the light pierced through and the
+widely illuminated distance began to shine.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The fatigue that had tormented Werner during the last two years had
+disappeared; the dead, cold, heavy serpent with its closed eyes and mouth
+clinched in death, had fallen away from his breast. Before the face of death,
+beautiful Youth came back to him physically. Indeed, it was more than beautiful
+Youth. With that wonderful clarity of the spirit which in rare moments comes
+over man and lifts him to the loftiest peaks of meditation, Werner suddenly
+perceived both life and death, and he was awed by the splendor of the
+unprecedented spectacle. It seemed to him that he was walking along the highest
+mountain-ridge, which was narrow like the blade of a knife, and on one side he
+saw Life, on the other side&mdash;Death,&mdash;like two sparkling, deep,
+beautiful seas, blending in one boundless, broad surface at the horizon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is this? What a divine spectacle!&rdquo; he said slowly, rising
+involuntarily and straightening himself, as if in the presence of a supreme
+being. And destroying the walls, space and time with the impetuosity of his
+all-penetrating look, he cast a wide glance somewhere into the depth of the
+life he was to forsake.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And life appeared to him in a new light. He did not strive, as before, to
+clothe in words that which he had seen; nor were there such words in the still
+poor, meager human language. That small, cynical and evil feeling which had
+called forth in him a contempt for mankind and at times even an aversion for
+the sight of a human face, had disappeared completely. Thus, for a man who goes
+up in an airship, the filth and litter of the narrow streets disappear and that
+which was ugly becomes beautiful.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Unconsciously Werner stepped over to the table and leaned his right hand on it.
+Proud and commanding by nature, he had never before assumed such a proud, free,
+commanding pose, had never turned his head and never looked as he did
+now,&mdash;for he had never yet been as free and dominant as he was here in the
+prison, with but a few hours from execution and death.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now men seemed new to him,&mdash;they appeared amiable and charming to his
+clarified vision. Soaring over time, he saw clearly how young mankind was, that
+but yesterday it had been howling like a beast in the forests; and that which
+had seemed to him terrible in human beings, unpardonable and repulsive,
+suddenly became very dear to him,&mdash;like the inability of a child to walk
+as grown people do, like a child&rsquo;s unconnected lisping, flashing with
+sparks of genius; like a child&rsquo;s comical blunders, errors and painful
+bruises.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My dear people!&rdquo; Werner suddenly smiled and at once lost all that
+was imposing in his pose; he again became a prisoner who finds his cell narrow
+and uncomfortable under lock, and he was tired of the annoying, searching eye
+staring at him through the peephole in the door. And, strange to say, almost
+instantly he forgot all that he had seen a little while before so clearly and
+distinctly; and, what is still stranger, he did not even make an effort to
+recall it. He simply sat down as comfortably as possible, without the usual
+stiffness of his body, and surveyed the walls and the bars with a faint and
+gentle, strange, un-Werner-like smile. Still another new thing happened to
+Werner,&mdash;something that had never happened to him before: he suddenly
+started to weep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My dear comrades!&rdquo; he whispered, crying bitterly. &ldquo;My dear
+comrades!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By what mysterious ways did he change from the feeling of proud and boundless
+freedom to this tender and passionate compassion? He did not know, nor did he
+think of it. Did he pity his dear comrades, or did his tears conceal something
+else, a still loftier and more passionate feeling?&mdash;His suddenly revived
+and rejuvenated heart did not know this either. He wept and whispered:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My dear comrades! My dear, dear comrades!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In this man, who was bitterly weeping and smiling through tears, no one could
+have recognized the cold and haughty, weary, yet daring Werner&mdash;neither
+the judges, nor the comrades, nor even he himself.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h3><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER XI<br/>ON THE WAY TO THE SCAFFOLD</h3>
+
+<p>
+Before placing the condemned people in coaches, all five were brought together
+in a large cold room with a vaulted ceiling, which resembled an office, where
+people worked no longer, or a deserted waiting-room. They were now permitted to
+speak to one another.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Only Tanya Kovalchuk availed herself at once of the permission. The others
+firmly and silently shook each other&rsquo;s hands, which were as cold as ice
+and as hot as fire,&mdash;and silently, trying not to look at each other, they
+crowded together in an awkward, absent-minded group. Now that they were
+together, they felt somewhat ashamed of what each of them had experienced when
+alone; and they were afraid to look, so as not to notice or to show that new,
+peculiar, somewhat shameful sensation that each of them felt or suspected the
+others of feeling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But after a short silence they glanced at each other, smiled and immediately
+began to feel at ease and unrestrained, as before. No change seemed to have
+occurred, and if it had occurred, it had come so gently over all of them that
+it could not be discerned in any one separately. All spoke and moved about
+strangely: abruptly, by jolts, either too fast or too slowly. Sometimes they
+seemed to choke with their words and repeated them a number of times; sometimes
+they did not finish a phrase they had started, or thought they had
+finished&mdash;they did not notice it. They all blinked their eyes and examined
+ordinary objects curiously, not recognizing them, like people who had worn
+eye-glasses and had suddenly taken them off; and all of them frequently turned
+around abruptly, as though some one behind them was calling them all the time
+and showing them something. But they did not notice this, either. Musya&rsquo;s
+and Tanya Kovalchuk&rsquo;s cheeks and ears were burning; Sergey was at first
+somewhat pale, but he soon recovered and looked as he always did.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Only Vasily attracted everybody&rsquo;s attention. Even among them, he looked
+strange and terrible. Werner became agitated and said to Musya in a low voice,
+with tender anxiety:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What does this mean, Musyechka? Is it possible that he&mdash;&mdash;
+What? I must go to him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Vasily looked at Werner from the distance, as though not recognizing him, and
+he lowered his eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Vasya, what have you done with your hair? What is the matter with you?
+Never mind, my dear, never mind, it will soon be over. We must keep up, we
+must, we must.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Vasily was silent. But when it seemed that he would no longer say anything, a
+dull, belated, terribly remote answer came&mdash;like an answer from the grave:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m all right. I hold my own.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then he repeated:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hold my own.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Werner was delighted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the way, that&rsquo;s the way. Good boy. That&rsquo;s the
+way.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But his eyes met Vasily&rsquo;s dark, wearied glance fixed upon him from the
+distance and he thought with instant sorrow: &ldquo;From where is he looking?
+From where is he speaking?&rdquo; and with profound tenderness, with which
+people address a grave, he said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Vasya, do you hear? I love you very much.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So do I love you very much,&rdquo; answered the tongue, moving with
+difficulty.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly Musya took Werner by the hand and with an expression of surprise, she
+said like an actress on the stage, with measured emphasis:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Werner, what is this? You said, &lsquo;I love&rsquo;? You never before
+said &lsquo;I love&rsquo; to anybody. And why are you all so&mdash;tender and
+serene? Why?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And like an actor, also accentuating what he felt, Werner pressed Musya&rsquo;s
+hand firmly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, now I love very much. Don&rsquo;t tell it to the others,&mdash;it
+isn&rsquo;t necessary, I feel somewhat ashamed, but I love deeply.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Their eyes met and flashed up brightly, and everything about them seemed to
+have plunged in darkness. It is thus that in the flash of lightning all other
+lights are instantly darkened and the heavy yellow flame casts a shadow upon
+earth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Musya, &ldquo;yes, Werner.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;yes, Musya, yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They understood each other and something was firmly settled between them at
+this moment. And his eyes glistening, Werner again became agitated and quickly
+stepped over to Sergey.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Seryozha!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Tanya Kovalchuk answered. Almost crying with maternal pride, she tugged
+Sergey frantically by the sleeve.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Listen, Werner! I am crying here for him, I am wearing myself to death,
+and he is occupying himself with gymnastics!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;According to the Müller system?&rdquo; smiled Werner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sergey knit his brow confusedly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You needn&rsquo;t laugh, Werner. I have convinced myself
+conclusively&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All began to laugh. Drawing strength and courage from one another, they
+gradually regained their poise&mdash;became the same as they used to be. They
+did not notice this, however, and thought that they had never changed at all.
+Suddenly Werner interrupted their laughter and said to Sergey very earnestly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are right, Seryozha. You are perfectly right.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, but you must understand,&rdquo; said Golovin gladly. &ldquo;Of
+course, we&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But at this point they were asked to start. And their jailers were so kind as
+to permit them to ride in pairs, as they pleased. Altogether the jailers were
+extremely kind; even too kind. It was as if they tried partly to show
+themselves humane and partly to show that they were not there at all, but that
+everything was being done as by machinery. But they were all pale.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Musya, you go with him.&rdquo; Werner pointed at Vasily, who stood
+motionless.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I understand,&rdquo; Musya nodded. &ldquo;And you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I? Tanya will go with Sergey, you go with Vasya.... I will go alone.
+That doesn&rsquo;t matter, I can do it, you know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When they went out in the yard, the moist, soft darkness rushed warmly and
+strongly against their faces, their eyes, taking their breath away, then
+suddenly it penetrated their bodies tenderly and refreshingly. It was hard to
+believe that this wonderful effect was produced simply by the spring wind, the
+warm, moist wind. And the really wonderful spring night was filled with the
+odor of melting snow, and through the boundless space the noise of drops
+resounded. Hastily and frequently, as though trying to overtake one another,
+little drops were falling, striking in unison a ringing tune. Suddenly one of
+them would strike out of tune and all was mingled in a merry splash in hasty
+confusion. Then a large, heavy drop would strike firmly and again the fast,
+spring melody resounded distinctly. And over the city, above the roofs of the
+fortress, hung a pale redness in the sky reflected by the electric lights.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;U-ach!&rdquo; Sergey Golovin heaved a deep sigh and held his breath, as
+though he regretted to exhale from his lungs the fine, fresh air.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How long have you had such weather?&rdquo; inquired Werner.
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s real spring.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s only the second day,&rdquo; was the polite answer.
+&ldquo;Before that we had mostly frosty weather.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The dark carriages rolled over noiselessly one after another, took them in by
+twos, started off into the darkness&mdash;there where the lantern was shaking
+at the gate. The convoys like gray silhouettes surrounded each carriage; the
+horseshoes struck noisily against the ground, or plashed upon the melting snow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Werner bent down, about to climb into the carriage, the gendarme whispered
+to him:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There is somebody else going along with you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Werner was surprised.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where? Where is he going? Oh, yes! Another one? Who is he?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The gendarme was silent. Indeed, in a dark corner a small, motionless but
+living figure pressed close to the side of the carriage. By the reflection of
+the lantern Werner noticed the flash of an open eye. Seating himself, Werner
+pushed his foot against the other man&rsquo;s knee.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Excuse me, comrade.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The man made no reply. It was only when the carriage started, that he suddenly
+asked in broken Russian, speaking with difficulty:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who are you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am Werner, condemned to hanging for the attempt upon N&mdash;. And
+you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am Yanson. They must not hang me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They were riding thus in order to appear two hours later face to face before
+the inexplicable great mystery, in order to pass from Life to Death&mdash;and
+they were introducing each other. Life and Death moved simultaneously, and
+until the very end Life remained life, to the most ridiculous and insipid
+trifles.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What have you done, Yanson?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I killed my master with a knife. I stole money.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It seemed from the tone of his voice that Yanson was falling asleep. Werner
+found his flabby hand in the darkness and pressed it. Yanson withdrew it
+drowsily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you afraid?&rdquo; asked Werner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want to be hanged.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They became silent. Werner again found the Esthonian&rsquo;s hand and pressed
+it firmly between his dry, burning palms. Yanson&rsquo;s hand lay motionless,
+like a board, but he made no longer any effort to withdraw it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was close and suffocating in the carriage. The air was filled with the smell
+of soldiers&rsquo; clothes, mustiness, and the leather of wet boots. The young
+gendarme who sat opposite Werner breathed warmly upon him, and in his breath
+there was the odor of onions and cheap tobacco. But some brisk, fresh air came
+in through certain clefts, and because of this, spring was felt even more
+intensely in this small, stifling, moving box, than outside. The carriage kept
+turning now to the right, now to the left, now it seemed to turn back. At times
+it seemed as though they had been turning around on one and the same spot for
+hours for some reason or other. At first a bluish electric light penetrated
+through the lowered, heavy window shades; then suddenly, after a certain turn
+it grew dark, and only by this could they guess that they had turned into
+deserted streets in the outskirts of the city and that they were nearing the S.
+railroad station. Sometimes during sharp turns, Werner&rsquo;s live, bent knee
+would strike against the live, bent knee of the gendarme, and it was hard to
+believe that the execution was approaching.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where are we going?&rdquo; Yanson asked suddenly. He was somewhat dizzy
+from the continuous turning of the dark box and he felt slightly sick at his
+stomach.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Werner answered and pressed the Esthonian&rsquo;s hand more firmly. He felt
+like saying something especially kind and caressing to this little, sleepy man,
+and he already loved him as he had never loved anyone in his life.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t seem to sit comfortably, my dear man. Move over here, to
+me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yanson was silent for awhile, then he replied:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, thank you. I&rsquo;m sitting all right. Are they going to hang you
+too?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; answered Werner, almost laughing with unexpected jollity,
+and he waved his hand easily and freely, as though he were speaking of some
+absurd and trifling joke which kind but terribly comical people wanted to play
+on him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you a wife?&rdquo; asked Yanson.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. I have no wife. I am single.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am also alone. Alone,&rdquo; said Yanson.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Werner&rsquo;s head also began to feel dizzy. And at times it seemed that they
+were going to some festival; strange to say, almost all those who went to the
+scaffold experienced the same sensation and mingled with sorrow and fear there
+was a vague joy as they anticipated the extraordinary thing that was soon to
+befall them. Reality was intoxicated with madness and Death, united with Life,
+brought forth apparitions. It seemed very possible that flags were waving over
+the houses.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We have arrived!&rdquo; said Werner gayly when the carriage stopped, and
+he jumped out easily. But with Yanson it was a rather slow affair: silently and
+very drowsily he resisted and would not come out. He seized the knob. The
+gendarme opened the weak fingers and pulled his hand away. Then Yanson seized
+the corner of the carriage, the door, the high wheel, but immediately let it go
+upon the slightest effort on the part of the gendarme. He did not exactly seize
+these things; he rather cleaved to each object sleepily and silently, and was
+torn away easily, without any effort. Finally he got up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There were no flags. The railroad station was dark, deserted and lifeless; the
+passenger trains were not running any longer, and the train which was silently
+waiting for these passengers on the way needed no bright light, no commotion.
+Suddenly Werner began to feel weary. It was not fear, nor anguish, but a
+feeling of enormous, painful, tormenting weariness which makes one feel like
+going off somewhere, lying down and closing one&rsquo;s eyes very tightly.
+Werner stretched himself and yawned slowly. Yanson also stretched himself and
+quickly yawned several times.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wish they&rsquo;d be quicker about it,&rdquo; said Werner wearily.
+Yanson was silent, shrinking together.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the condemned moved along the deserted platform which was surrounded by
+soldiers, to the dimly lighted cars, Werner found himself near Sergey Golovin;
+Sergey, pointing with his hand somewhere aside, began to say something, but
+only the word &ldquo;lantern&rdquo; was heard distinctly, and the rest was
+drowned in slow and weary yawning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What did you say?&rdquo; asked Werner, also yawning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The lantern. The lamp in the lantern is smoking,&rdquo; said Sergey.
+Werner looked around. Indeed, the lamp in the lantern was smoking very much,
+and the glass had already turned black on top.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, it is smoking.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly he thought: &ldquo;What have I to do with the smoking of the lamp,
+since&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sergey apparently thought the same, as he glanced quickly at Werner and turned
+away. But both stopped yawning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They all went to the cars themselves, only Yanson had to be led by the arms. At
+first he stamped his feet and his boots seemed to stick to the boards of the
+platform. Then he bent his knees and fell into the arms of the gendarmes, his
+feet dangled like those of a very intoxicated man, and the tips of the boots
+scraped against the wood. It took a long time until he was silently pushed
+through the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Vasily Kashirin also moved himself, unconsciously imitating the movements of
+his comrades&mdash;he did everything as they did. But on boarding the platform
+of the car, he stumbled, and a gendarme took him by the elbow to support him.
+Vasily shuddered and screamed shrilly, drawing back his arm:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ai!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is it, Vasya?&rdquo; Werner rushed over to him. Vasily was silent,
+trembling in every limb. The confused and even offended gendarme explained:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wanted to keep him from falling, and he&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come, Vasya, let me hold you,&rdquo; said Werner, about to take him by
+the arm. But Vasily drew back his arm again and cried more loudly than before:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ai!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Vasya, it is I, Werner.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I know. Don&rsquo;t touch me. I&rsquo;ll go myself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And continuing to tremble he entered the car himself and seated himself in a
+corner. Bending over to Musya, Werner asked her softly, pointing with his eyes
+at Vasily:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How about him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bad,&rdquo; answered Musya, also in a soft voice. &ldquo;He is dead
+already. Werner, tell me, is there such a thing as death?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know, Musya, but I think that there is no such
+thing,&rdquo; replied Werner seriously and thoughtfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s what I have thought. But he? I was tortured with him in the
+carriage&mdash;it was like riding with a corpse.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know, Musya. Perhaps there is such a thing as death for
+some people. Meanwhile, perhaps, but later there will be no death. For me death
+also existed before, but now it exists no longer.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Musya&rsquo;s somewhat paled cheeks flushed as she asked:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It did exist, Werner? It did?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It did. But not now any longer. Just the same as with you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A noise was heard in the doorway of the car. Mishka Tsiganok entered, stamping
+noisily with his heels, breathing loudly and spitting. He cast a swift glance
+and stopped obdurately.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No room here, gendarme!&rdquo; he shouted to the tired gendarme who
+looked at him angrily. &ldquo;You make it so that I am comfortable here,
+otherwise I won&rsquo;t go&mdash;hang me here on the lamp-post. What a carriage
+they gave me, dogs! Is that a carriage? It&rsquo;s the devil&rsquo;s belly, not
+a carriage!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But suddenly he bent down his head, stretched out his neck and thus went
+forward to the others. Out of the disheveled frame of hair and beard his black
+eyes looked wildly and sharply with an almost insane expression.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, gentlemen!&rdquo; he drawled out. &ldquo;So that&rsquo;s what it is.
+Hello, master!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He thrust his hand to Werner and sat down opposite him. And bending closely
+over to him, he winked one eye and quickly passed his hand over his throat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You, too? What?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes!&rdquo; smiled Werner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are all of us to be hanged?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oho!&rdquo; Tsiganok grinned, showing his teeth, and quickly felt
+everybody with his eyes, stopping for an instant longer on Musya and Yanson.
+Then he winked again to Werner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Minister?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, the Minister. And you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am here for something else, master. People like me don&rsquo;t deal
+with ministers. I am a murderer, master, that&rsquo;s what I am. An ordinary
+murderer. Never mind, master, move away a little, I haven&rsquo;t come into
+your company of my own will. There will be room enough for all of us in the
+other world.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He surveyed them all with one swift, suspicious, wild glance from under his
+disheveled hair. But all looked at him silently and seriously, even with
+apparent interest. He grinned, showing his teeth, and quickly clapped Werner on
+the knee several times.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the way, master! How does the song run? &lsquo;Don&rsquo;t
+rustle, O green little mother forest....&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why do you call me &lsquo;master,&rsquo; since we are all
+going&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Correct,&rdquo; Tsiganok agreed with satisfaction. &ldquo;What kind of
+master are you, if you are going to hang right beside me? There is a master for
+you&rdquo;; and he pointed with his finger at the silent gendarme. &ldquo;Eh,
+that fellow there is not worse than our kind&rdquo;; he pointed with his eyes
+at Vasily. &ldquo;Master! Eh there, master! You&rsquo;re afraid, aren&rsquo;t
+you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; answered the heavy tongue.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never mind that &lsquo;No.&rsquo; Don&rsquo;t be ashamed; there&rsquo;s
+nothing to be ashamed of. Only a dog wags his tail and snarls when he is taken
+to be hanged, but you are a man. Who is that dope? He isn&rsquo;t one of you,
+is he?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He darted his glance rapidly about, and hissing, kept spitting continuously.
+Yanson, curled up into a motionless bundle, pressed closely into the corner.
+The flaps of his outworn fur cap stirred, but he maintained silence. Werner
+answered for him:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He killed his employer.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;O Lord!&rdquo; wondered Tsiganok. &ldquo;Why are such people allowed to
+kill?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For some time Tsiganok had been looking sideways at Musya; now turning quickly,
+he stared at her sharply, straight into her face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Young lady, young lady! What about you? Her cheeks are rosy and she is
+laughing. Look, she is really laughing,&rdquo; he said, clasping Werner&rsquo;s
+knee with his clutching, iron-like fingers. &ldquo;Look, look!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Reddening, smiling confusedly, Musya also gazed straight into his sharp and
+wildly searching eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The wheels rattled fast and noisily. The small cars kept hopping along the
+narrow rails. Now at a curve or at a crossing the small engine whistled shrilly
+and carefully&mdash;the engineer was afraid lest he might run over somebody. It
+was strange to think that so much humane painstaking care and exertion was
+being introduced into the business of hanging people; that the most insane deed
+on earth was being committed with such an air of simplicity and reasonableness.
+The cars were running, and human beings sat in them as people always do, and
+they rode as people usually ride; and then there would be a halt, as usual.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The train will stop for five minutes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And there death would be waiting&mdash;eternity&mdash;the great mystery.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h3><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER XII<br/>THEY ARE HANGED</h3>
+
+The little cars ran on carefully.
+
+<p>
+Sergey Golovin at one time had lived for several years with his relatives at
+their country-house, along this very road. He had traveled upon it by day as
+well as by night, and he knew it well. He closed his eyes, and thought that he
+might now simply be returning home&mdash;that he had stayed out late in the
+city with acquaintances, and was now coming back on the last train.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We will soon he there,&rdquo; he said, opening his eyes and looking out
+of the grated, mute window.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nobody stirred, nobody answered; only Tsiganok spat quickly several times and
+his eyes ran over the car, as though feeling the windows, the doors, the
+soldiers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s cold,&rdquo; said Vasily Kashirin, his lips closed tightly,
+as though really frozen; and his words sounded strangely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tanya Kovalchuk began to bustle about.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s a handkerchief. Tie it about your neck. It&rsquo;s a very
+warm one.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Around the neck?&rdquo; Sergey asked suddenly, startled by his own
+question. But as the same thing occurred to all of them, no one seemed to hear
+him. It was as if nothing had been said, or as if they had all said the same
+thing at the same time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never mind, Vasya, tie it about your neck. It will be warmer,&rdquo;
+Werner advised him. Then he turned to Yanson and asked gently:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And you, friend, are you cold?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Werner, perhaps he wants to smoke. Comrade, perhaps you would like to
+smoke?&rdquo; asked Musya. &ldquo;We have something to smoke.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Give him a cigarette, Seryozha,&rdquo; said Werner delightedly. But
+Sergey was already getting out a cigarette. All looked on with friendliness,
+watching how Yanson&rsquo;s fingers took the cigarette, how the match flared,
+and then how the blue smoke issued from Yanson&rsquo;s mouth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thanks,&rdquo; said Yanson; &ldquo;it&rsquo;s good.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How strange!&rdquo; said Sergey.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is strange?&rdquo; Werner turned around. &ldquo;What is
+strange?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I mean&mdash;the cigarette.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yanson held a cigarette, an ordinary cigarette, in his ordinary live hands,
+and, pale-faced, looked at it with surprise, even with terror. And all fixed
+their eyes upon the little tube, from the end of which smoke was issuing, like
+a bluish ribbon, wafted aside by the breathing, with the ashes, gathering,
+turning black. The light went out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The light&rsquo;s out,&rdquo; said Tanya.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, the light&rsquo;s out.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let it go,&rdquo; said Werner, frowning, looking uneasily at Yanson,
+whose hand, holding the cigarette, was hanging loosely, as if dead. Suddenly
+Tsiganok turned quickly, bent over to Werner, close to him, face to face, and
+rolling the whites of his eyes, like a horse, whispered:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Master, how about the convoys? Suppose we&mdash;eh? Shall we try?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, don&rsquo;t do it,&rdquo; Werner replied, also in a whisper.
+&ldquo;We shall drink it to the bitter end.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why not? It&rsquo;s livelier in a fight! Eh? I strike him, he strikes
+me, and you don&rsquo;t even know how the thing is done. It&rsquo;s just as if
+you don&rsquo;t die at all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, you shouldn&rsquo;t do it,&rdquo; said Werner, and turned to Yanson.
+&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you smoke, friend?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly Yanson&rsquo;s wizened face became wofully wrinkled, as if somebody
+had pulled strings which set all the wrinkles in motion. And, as in a dream, he
+began to whimper, without tears, in a dry, strained voice:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want to smoke. Aha! aha! aha! Why should I be hanged? Aha!
+aha! aha!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They began to bustle about him. Tanya Kovalchuk, weeping freely, petted him on
+the arm, and adjusted the drooping earlaps of his worn fur cap.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My dear, do not cry! My own! my dear! Poor, unfortunate little
+fellow!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Musya looked aside. Tsiganok caught her glance and grinned, showing his teeth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What a queer fellow! He drinks tea, and yet feels cold,&rdquo; he said,
+with an abrupt laugh. But suddenly his own face became bluish-black, like
+cast-iron, and his large yellow teeth flashed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly the little cars trembled and slackened their speed. All, except Yanson
+and Kashirin, rose and sat down again quickly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here is the station,&rdquo; said Sergey.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It seemed to them as if all the air had been suddenly pumped out of the car, it
+became so difficult to breathe. The heart grew larger, making the chest almost
+burst, beating in the throat, tossing about madly&mdash;shouting in horror with
+its blood-filled voice. And the eyes looked upon the quivering floor, and the
+ears heard how the wheels were turning ever more slowly&mdash;the wheels
+slipped and turned again, and then suddenly&mdash;they stopped.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The train had halted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then a dream set in. It was not terrible, rather fantastic, unfamiliar to the
+memory, strange. The dreamer himself seemed to remain aside, only his bodiless
+apparition moved about, spoke soundlessly, walked noiselessly, suffered without
+suffering. As in a dream, they walked out of the car, formed into parties of
+two, inhaled the peculiarly fresh spring air of the forest. As in a dream,
+Yanson resisted bluntly, powerlessly, and was dragged out of the car silently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They descended the steps of the station.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are we to walk?&rdquo; asked some one almost cheerily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t far now,&rdquo; answered another, also cheerily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then they walked in a large, black, silent crowd amid the forest, along a
+rough, wet and soft spring road. From the forest, from the snow, a fresh,
+strong breath of air was wafted. The feet slipped, sometimes sinking into the
+snow, and involuntarily the hands of the comrades clung to each other. And the
+convoys, breathing with difficulty, walked over the untouched snow on each side
+of the road. Some one said in an angry voice:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why didn&rsquo;t they clear the road? Did they want us to turn
+somersaults in the snow?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Some one else apologized guiltily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We cleaned it, your Honor. But it is thawing and it can&rsquo;t be
+helped.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Consciousness of what they were doing returned to the prisoners, but not
+completely,&mdash;in fragments, in strange parts. Now, suddenly, their minds
+practically admitted:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is indeed impossible to clear the road.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then again everything died out, and only their sense of smell remained: the
+unbearably fresh smell of the forest and of the melting snow. And everything
+became unusually clear to the consciousness: the forest, the night, the road
+and the fact that soon they would be hanged. Their conversation, restrained to
+whispers, flashed in fragments.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is almost four o&rsquo;clock.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I said we started too early.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The sun dawns at five.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course, at five. We should have&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They stopped in a meadow, in the darkness. A little distance away, beyond the
+bare trees, two small lanterns moved silently. There were the gallows.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I lost one of my rubbers,&rdquo; said Sergey Golovin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Really?&rdquo; asked Werner, not understanding what he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I lost a rubber. It&rsquo;s cold.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where&rsquo;s Vasily?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know. There he is.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Vasily stood, gloomy, motionless.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And where is Musya?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here I am. Is that you, Werner?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They began to look about, avoiding the direction of the gallows, where the
+lanterns continued to move about silently with terrible suggestiveness. On the
+left, the bare forest seemed to be growing thinner, and something large and
+white and flat was visible. A damp wind issued from it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The sea,&rdquo; said Sergey Golovin, inhaling the air with nose and
+mouth. &ldquo;The sea is there!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Musya answered sonorously:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My love which is as broad as the sea!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is that, Musya?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The banks of life cannot hold my love, which is as broad as the
+sea.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My love which is as broad as the sea,&rdquo; echoed Sergey,
+thoughtfully, carried away by the sound of her voice and by her words.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My love which is as broad as the sea,&rdquo; repeated Werner, and
+suddenly he spoke wonderingly, cheerfully:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Musya, how young you are!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly Tsiganok whispered warmly, out of breath, right into Werner&rsquo;s
+ear:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Master! master! There&rsquo;s the forest! My God! what&rsquo;s that?
+There&mdash;where the lanterns are&mdash;are those the gallows? What does it
+mean?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Werner looked at him. Tsiganok was writhing in agony before his death.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We must bid each other good-by,&rdquo; said Tanya Kovalchuk.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wait, they have yet to read the sentence,&rdquo; answered Werner.
+&ldquo;Where is Yanson?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yanson was lying on the snow, and about him people were busying themselves.
+There was a smell of ammonia in the air.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, what is it, doctor? Will you be through soon?&rdquo; some one
+asked impatiently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s nothing. He has simply fainted. Rub his ears with snow! He is
+coming to himself already! You may read the sentence!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The light of the dark lantern flashed upon the paper and on the white,
+gloveless hands holding it. Both the paper and the hands quivered slightly, and
+the voice also quivered:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gentlemen, perhaps it is not necessary to read the sentence to you. You
+know it already. What do you say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t read it,&rdquo; Werner answered for them all, and the little
+lantern was soon extinguished.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The services of the priest were also declined by them all. Tsiganok said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Stop your fooling, father&mdash;you will forgive me, but they will hang
+me. Go to&mdash;where you came from.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And the dark, broad silhouette of the priest moved back silently and quickly
+and disappeared. Day was breaking: the snow turned whiter, the figures of the
+people became more distinct, and the forest&mdash;thinner, more melancholy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gentlemen, you must go in pairs. Take your places in pairs as you wish,
+but I ask you to hurry up.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Werner pointed to Yanson, who was now standing, supported by two gendarmes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will go with him. And you, Seryozha, take Vasily. Go ahead.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You and I go together, Musechka, shall we not?&rdquo; asked Tanya
+Kovalchuk. &ldquo;Come, let us kiss each other good-by.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They kissed one another quickly. Tsiganok kissed firmly, so that they felt his
+teeth; Yanson softly, drowsily, with his mouth half open&mdash;and it seemed
+that he did not understand what he was doing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Sergey Golovin and Kashirin had gone a few steps, Kashirin suddenly
+stopped and said loudly and distinctly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good-by, comrades.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good-by, comrade,&rdquo; they shouted in answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They went off. It grew quiet. The lanterns beyond the trees became motionless.
+They awaited an outcry, a voice, some kind of noise&mdash;but it was just as
+quiet there as it was among them&mdash;and the yellow lanterns were motionless.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, my God!&rdquo; some one cried hoarsely and wildly. They looked
+about. It was Tsiganok, writhing in agony at the thought of death. &ldquo;They
+are hanging!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They turned away from him, and again it became quiet. Tsiganok was writhing,
+catching at the air with his hands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How is that, gentlemen? Am I to go alone? It&rsquo;s livelier to die
+together. Gentlemen, what does it mean?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He seized Werner by the hand, his fingers clutching and then relaxing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dear master, at least you come with me? Eh? Do me the favor? Don&rsquo;t
+refuse.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Werner answered painfully:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t, my dear fellow. I am going with him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, my God! Must I go alone, then? My God! How is it to be?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Musya stepped forward and said softly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You may go with me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tsiganok stepped back and rolled the whites of his eyes wildly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;With you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just think of her! What a little girl! And you&rsquo;re not afraid? If
+you are, I would rather go alone!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I am not afraid.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tsiganok grinned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just think of her! But do you know that I am a murderer? Don&rsquo;t you
+despise me? You had better not do it. I shan&rsquo;t be angry at you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Musya was silent, and in the faint light of dawn her face was pale and
+enigmatic. Then suddenly she walked over to Tsiganok quickly, and, throwing her
+arms about his neck, kissed him firmly upon his lips. He took her by the
+shoulders with his fingers, held her away from himself, then shook her, and,
+with loud smacks, kissed her on the lips, on the nose, on the eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly the soldier standing nearest them staggered forward, and opening his
+hands, let his gun drop. He did not stoop down to regain it, but stood for an
+instant motionless, turned abruptly and, like a blind man, walked toward the
+forest over the untouched snow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where are you going?&rdquo; called out another soldier in fright.
+&ldquo;Halt!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the man continued walking through the deep snow silently and with
+difficulty. Then he must have stumbled over something, for he waved his arms
+and fell face downward. And there he remained lying on the snow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pick up the gun, you sour-faced gray-coat, or I&rsquo;ll pick it
+up,&rdquo; said Tsiganok sternly to the other soldier. &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t
+know your business!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The little lanterns began to move about busily again. Now it was the turn of
+Werner and Yanson.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good-by, master!&rdquo; called Tsiganok loudly. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll meet
+each other in the other world, you&rsquo;ll see! Don&rsquo;t turn away from me.
+When you see me, bring me some water to drink&mdash;it will be hot there for
+me!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good-by!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want to be hanged!&rdquo; said Yanson drowsily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Werner took him by the hand, and then the Esthonian walked a few steps alone.
+But later they saw him stop and fall down in the snow. Soldiers bent over him,
+lifted him up and carried him on, and he struggled faintly in their arms. Why
+did he not cry? He must have forgotten even that he had a voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And again the little yellow lanterns became motionless.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And I, Musechka,&rdquo; said Tanya Kovalchuk mournfully, &ldquo;must I
+go alone? We lived together, and now&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Tanechka, dearest&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Tsiganok took her part heatedly. Holding her by the hand, as though fearing
+that some one would take her away from him, he said quickly, in a business-like
+manner, to Tanya:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, young lady, you can go alone! You are a pure soul&mdash;you can go
+alone wherever you please! But I&mdash;I can&rsquo;t! A murderer!...
+Understand? I can&rsquo;t go alone! Where are you going, you murderer? they
+will ask me. Why, I even stole horses, by God! But with her it is just as
+if&mdash;just as if I were with an infant, understand? Do you understand
+me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do. Go. Come, let me kiss you once more, Musechka.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Kiss! Kiss each other!&rdquo; urged Tsiganok. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s a
+woman&rsquo;s job! You must bid each other a hearty good-by!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Musya and Tsiganok moved forward. Musya walked cautiously, slipping, and by
+force of habit raising her skirts slightly. And the man led her to death
+firmly, holding her arm carefully and feeling the ground with his foot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The lights stopped moving. It was quiet and lonely around Tanya Kovalchuk. The
+soldiers were silent, all gray in the soft, colorless light of daybreak.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am alone,&rdquo; sighed Tanya Kovalchuk suddenly. &ldquo;Seryozha is
+dead, Werner is dead&mdash;and Vasya, too. I am alone! Soldiers! soldiers! I am
+alone, alone&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The sun was rising over the sea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The bodies were placed in a box. Then they were taken away. With stretched
+necks, with bulging eyes, with blue, swollen tongues, looking like some
+unknown, terrible flowers between the lips, which were covered with bloody
+foam&mdash;the bodies were hurried back along the same road by which they had
+come&mdash;alive. And the spring snow was just as soft and fresh; the spring
+air was just as strong and fragrant. And on the snow lay Sergey&rsquo;s black
+rubber-shoe, wet, trampled under foot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus did men greet the rising sun.
+</p>
+
+<h5>
+THE END
+</h5>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+
+
+
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+</body>
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+</html>
+
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@@ -0,0 +1,3965 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Seven who were Hanged, by Leonid Andreyev
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Seven who were Hanged
+
+Author: Leonid Andreyev
+
+Release Date: October, 2004  [EBook #6722]
+Posting Date: June 1, 2009
+[Last Updated: December 16, 2011]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SEVEN WHO WERE HANGED ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Eric Eldred
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE SEVEN WHO WERE HANGED
+
+A STORY
+
+
+By Leonid Andreyev
+
+
+Authorized Translation From The Russian By Herman Bernstein.
+
+
+
+
+DEDICATION
+
+
+To Count Leo N. Tolstoy This Book is Dedicated, by Leonid Andreyev
+
+The Translation of this Story Is Also Respectfully Inscribed to Count
+Leo N. Tolstoy by Herman Bernstein
+
+
+
+
+FOREWORD
+
+Leonid Andreyev, who was born in Oryol, in 1871, is the most popular,
+and next to Tolstoy, the most gifted writer in Russia to-day. Andreyev
+has written many important stories and dramas, the best known among
+which are "Red Laughter," "Life of Man," "To the Stars," "The Life of
+Vasily Fiveisky," "Eliazar," "Black Masks," and "The Story of the Seven
+Who Were Hanged."
+
+In "Red Laughter" he depicted the horrors of war as few men had ever
+before done it. He dipped his pen into the blood of Russia and wrote the
+tragedy of the Manchurian war.
+
+In his "Life of Man" Andreyev produced a great, imaginative "morality"
+play which has been ranked by European critics with some of the greatest
+dramatic masterpieces.
+
+The story of "The Seven Who Were Hanged" is thus far his most important
+achievement. The keen psychological insight and the masterly simplicity
+with which Andreyev has penetrated and depicted each of the tragedies of
+the seven who were hanged place him in the same class as an artist with
+Russia's greatest masters of fiction, Dostoyevsky, Turgenev and Tolstoy.
+
+I consider myself fortunate to be able to present to the English-reading
+public this remarkable work, which has already produced a profound
+impression in Europe and which, I believe, is destined for a long time
+to come to play an important part in opening the eyes of the world to
+the horrors perpetrated in Russia and to the violence and iniquity of
+the destruction of human life, whatever the error or the crime.
+
+New York. HERMAN BERNSTEIN.
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+[Translation of the Foregoing Letter in Russian]
+
+I am very glad that "The Story of the Seven Who Were Hanged" will be
+read in English. The misfortune of us all is that we know so little,
+even nothing, about one another--neither about the soul, nor the life,
+the sufferings, the habits, the inclinations, the aspirations of one
+another. Literature, which I have the honor to serve, is dear to me just
+because the noblest task it sets before itself is that of wiping out
+boundaries and distances.
+
+As in a hard shell, every human being is enclosed in a cover of body,
+dress, and life. Who is man? We may only conjecture. What constitutes
+his joy or his sorrow? We may guess only by his acts, which are
+oft-times enigmatic; by his laughter and by his tears, which are often
+entirely incomprehensible to us. And if we, Russians, who live so
+closely together in constant misery, understand one another so poorly
+that we mercilessly put to death those who should be pitied or even
+rewarded, and reward those who should be punished by contempt and
+anger--how much more difficult is it for you Americans, to understand
+distant Russia? But then, it is just as difficult for us Russians to
+understand distant America, of which we dream in our youth and over
+which we ponder so deeply in our years of maturity.
+
+The Jewish massacres and famine; a Parliament and executions; pillage
+and the greatest heroism; "The Black Hundred," and Leo Tolstoy--what a
+mixture of figures and conceptions, what a fruitful source for all kinds
+of misunderstandings! The truth of life stands aghast in silence, and
+its brazen falsehood is loudly shouting, uttering pressing, painful
+questions: "With whom shall I sympathize? Whom shall I trust? Whom shall
+I love?"
+
+In the story of "The Seven Who Were Hanged" I attempted to give a
+sincere and unprejudiced answer to some of these questions.
+
+That I have treated ruling and slaughtering Russia with restraint and
+mildness may best be gathered from the fact that the Russian censor
+has permitted my book to circulate. This is sufficient evidence when we
+recall how many books, brochures and newspapers have found eternal rest
+in the peaceful shade of the police stations, where they have risen to
+the patient sky in the smoke and flame of bonfires.
+
+But I did not attempt to condemn the Government, the fame of whose
+wisdom and virtues has already spread far beyond the boundaries of our
+unfortunate fatherland. Modest and bashful far beyond all measure of
+her virtues, Russia would sincerely wish to forego this honor, but
+unfortunately the free press of America and Europe has not spared her
+modesty, and has given a sufficiently clear picture of her glorious
+activities. Perhaps I am wrong in this: it is possible that many honest
+people in America believe in the purity of the Russian Government's
+intentions--but this question is of such importance that it requires a
+special treatment, for which it is necessary to have both time and calm
+of soul. But there is no calm soul in Russia.
+
+My task was to point out the horror and the iniquity of capital
+punishment under any circumstances. The horror of capital punishment
+is great when it falls to the lot of courageous and honest people whose
+only guilt is their excess of love and the sense of righteousness--in
+such instances, conscience revolts. But the rope is still more horrible
+when it forms the noose around the necks of weak and ignorant people.
+And however strange it may appear, I look with a lesser grief and
+suffering upon the execution of the revolutionists, such as Werner and
+Musya, than upon the strangling of ignorant murderers, miserable in
+mind and heart, like Yanson and Tsiganok. Even the last mad horror of
+inevitably approaching execution Werner can offset by his enlightened
+mind and his iron will, and Musya, by her purity and her innocence. ***
+
+But how are the weak and the sinful to face it if not in madness, with
+the most violent shock to the very foundation of their souls? And these
+people, now that the Government has steadied its hands through its
+experience with the revolutionists, are being hanged throughout
+Russia--in some places one at a time, in others, ten at once. Children
+at play come upon badly buried bodies, and the crowds which gather
+look with horror upon the peasants' boots that are sticking out of the
+ground; prosecutors who have witnessed these executions are becoming
+insane and are taken away to hospitals--while the people are being
+hanged--being hanged.
+
+I am deeply grateful to you for the task you have undertaken in
+translating this sad story. Knowing the sensitiveness of the American
+people, who at one time sent across the ocean, steamers full of bread
+for famine-stricken Russia, I am convinced that in this case our
+people in their misery and bitterness will also find understanding and
+sympathy. And if my truthful story about seven of the thousands who were
+hanged will help toward destroying at least one of the barriers which
+separate one nation from another, one human being from another, one soul
+from another soul, I shall consider myself happy.
+
+Respectfully yours,
+
+LEONID ANDREYEV.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE SEVEN WHO WERE HANGED
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I AT ONE O'CLOCK, YOUR EXCELLENCY!
+
+
+As the Minister was a very stout man, inclined to apoplexy, they
+feared to arouse in him any dangerous excitement, and it was with every
+possible precaution that they informed him that a very serious attempt
+upon his life had been planned. When they saw that he received the news
+calmly, even with a smile, they gave him, also, the details. The attempt
+was to be made on the following day at the time that he was to start
+out with his official report; several men, terrorists, plans had already
+been betrayed by a provocateur, and who were now under the vigilant
+surveillance of detectives, were to meet at one o'clock in the afternoon
+in front of his house, and, armed with bombs and revolvers, were to wait
+till he came out. There the terrorists were to be trapped.
+
+"Wait!" muttered the Minister, perplexed. "How did they know that I was
+to leave the house at one o'clock in the afternoon with my report, when
+I myself learned of it only the day before yesterday?"
+
+The Chief of the Guards stretched out his arms with a shrug.
+
+"Exactly at one o'clock in the afternoon, your Excellency," he said.
+
+Half surprised, half commending the work of the police, who had managed
+everything skilfully, the Minister shook his head, a morose smile upon
+his thick, dark lips, and still smiling obediently, and not desiring to
+interfere with the plans of the police, he hastily made ready, and went
+out to pass the night in some one else's hospitable palace. His wife
+and his two children were also removed from the dangerous house, before
+which the bomb-throwers were to gather upon the following day.
+
+While the lights were burning in the palace, and courteous, familiar
+faces were bowing to him, smiling and expressing their concern, the
+dignitary experienced a sensation of pleasant excitement--he felt as
+if he had already received, or was soon to receive, some great
+and unexpected reward. But the people went away, the lights were
+extinguished, and through the mirrors, the lace-like and fantastic
+reflection of the electric lamps on the street, quivered across the
+ceiling and over the walls. A stranger in the house, with its
+paintings, its statues and its silence, the light--itself silent and
+indefinite--awakened painful thoughts in him as to the vanity of bolts
+and guards and walls. And then, in the dead of night, in the silence and
+solitude of a strange bedroom, a sensation of unbearable fear swept over
+the dignitary.
+
+He had some kidney trouble, and whenever he grew strongly agitated, his
+face, his hands and his feet became swollen. Now, rising like a mountain
+of bloated flesh above the taut springs of the bed, he felt, with the
+anguish of a sick man, his swollen face, which seemed to him to belong
+to some one else. Unceasingly he kept thinking of the cruel fate which
+people were preparing for him. He recalled, one after another, all the
+recent horrible instances of bombs that had been thrown at men of even
+greater eminence than himself; he recalled how the bombs had torn bodies
+to pieces, had spattered brains over dirty brick walls, had knocked
+teeth from their roots. And influenced by these meditations, it seemed
+to him that his own stout, sickly body, outspread on the bed, was
+already experiencing the fiery shock of the explosion. He seemed to
+be able to feel his arms being severed from the shoulders, his teeth
+knocked out, his brains scattered into particles, his feet growing numb,
+lying quietly, their toes upward, like those of a dead man. He stirred
+with an effort, breathed loudly and coughed in order not to seem to
+himself to resemble a corpse in any way. He encouraged himself with
+the live noise of the grating springs, of the rustling blanket; and to
+assure himself that he was actually alive and not dead, he uttered in
+a bass voice, loudly and abruptly, in the silence and solitude of the
+bedroom:
+
+"Molodtsi! Molodtsi! Molodtsi! (Good boys)!"
+
+He was praising the detectives, the police, and the soldiers--all those
+who guarded his life, and who so opportunely and so cleverly had averted
+the assassination. But even though he stirred, even though he praised
+his protectors, even though he forced an unnatural smile, in order
+to express his contempt for the foolish, unsuccessful terrorists, he
+nevertheless did not believe in his safety, he was not sure that his
+life would not leave him suddenly, at once. Death, which people had
+devised for him, and which was only in their minds, in their intention,
+seemed to him to be already standing there in the room. It seemed to
+him that Death would remain standing there, and would not go away until
+those people had been captured, until the bombs had been taken from
+them, until they had been placed in a strong prison. There Death was
+standing in the corner, and would not go away--it could not go away,
+even as an obedient sentinel stationed on guard by a superior's will and
+order.
+
+"At one o'clock in the afternoon, your Excellency!" this phrase kept
+ringing, changing its tone continually: now it was cheerfully mocking,
+now angry, now dull and obstinate. It sounded as if a hundred wound-up
+gramophones had been placed in his room, and all of them, one after
+another, were shouting with idiotic repetition the words they had been
+made to shout:
+
+"At one o'clock in the afternoon, your Excellency!"
+
+And suddenly, this one o'clock in the afternoon to-morrow, which but a
+short while ago was not in any way different from other hours, which
+was only a quiet movement of the hand along the dial of his gold watch,
+assumed an ominous finality, sprang out of the dial, began to live
+separately, stretched itself into an enormously huge black pole which
+cut all life in two. It seemed as if no other hours had existed before
+it and no other hours would exist after it--as if this hour alone,
+insolent and presumptuous, had a right to a certain peculiar existence.
+
+"Well, what do you want?" asked the Minister angrily, muttering between
+his teeth.
+
+The gramophone shouted:
+
+"At one o'clock in the afternoon, your Excellency!" and the black pole
+smiled and bowed. Gnashing his teeth, the Minister rose in his bed to
+a sitting posture, leaning his face on the palms of his hands--he
+positively could not sleep on that dreadful night.
+
+Clasping his face in his swollen, perfumed palms, he pictured to himself
+with horrifying clearness how on the following morning, not knowing
+anything of the plot against his life, he would have risen, would have
+drunk his coffee, not knowing anything, and then would have put on his
+coat in the hallway. And neither he, nor the doorkeeper who would have
+handed him his fur coat, nor the lackey who would have brought him the
+coffee, would have known that it was utterly useless to drink coffee,
+and to put on the coat, since a few instants later, everything--the
+fur coat and his body and the coffee within it--would be destroyed by an
+explosion, would be seized by death. The doorkeeper would have opened
+the glass door.... He, the amiable, kind, gentle doorkeeper, with the
+blue, typical eyes of a soldier, and with medals across his breast--he
+himself with his own hands would have opened the terrible door, opened
+it because he knew nothing. Everybody would have smiled because they did
+not know anything. "Oho!" he suddenly said aloud, and slowly removed his
+hands from his face. Peering into the darkness, far ahead of him, with a
+fixed, strained look, he outstretched his hand just as slowly, felt the
+button on the wall and pressed it. Then he arose, and without putting
+on his slippers, walked in his bare feet over the rug in the strange,
+unfamiliar bedroom, found the button of another lamp upon the wall and
+pressed it. It became light and pleasant, and only the disarranged
+bed with the blanket, which had slipped off to the floor, spoke of the
+horror, not altogether past.
+
+In his night-clothes, with his beard disheveled by his restless
+movements, with his angry eyes, the dignitary resembled any other angry
+old man who suffered with insomnia and shortness of breath. It was as
+if the death which people were preparing for him, had made him bare, had
+torn away from him the magnificence and splendor which had surrounded
+him--and it was hard to believe that it was he who had so much power,
+that his body was but an ordinary plain human body that must have
+perished terribly in the flame and roar of a monstrous explosion.
+Without dressing himself and not feeling the cold, he sat down in the
+first armchair he found, stroking his disheveled beard, and fixed his
+eyes in deep, calm thoughtfulness upon the unfamiliar plaster figures of
+the ceiling.
+
+So that was the trouble! That was why he had trembled in fear and had
+become so agitated! That was why Death seemed to stand in the corner and
+would not go away, could not go away!
+
+"Fools!" he said emphatically, with contempt.
+
+"Fools!" he repeated more loudly, and turned his head slightly toward
+the door that those to whom he was referring might hear it. He was
+referring to those whom he had praised but a moment before, who in the
+excess of their zeal had told him of the plot against his life.
+
+"Of course," he thought deeply, an easy, convincing idea arising in his
+mind. "Now that they have told me, I know, and feel terrified, but if I
+had not been told, I would not have known anything and would have drunk
+my coffee calmly. After that Death would have come--but then, am I so
+afraid of Death? Here have I been suffering with kidney trouble, and I
+must surely die from it some day, and yet I am not afraid--because I
+do not know anything. And those fools told me: 'At one o'clock in the
+afternoon, your Excellency!' and they thought I would be glad. But
+instead of that Death stationed itself in the corner and would not go
+away. It would not go away because it was my thought. It is not
+death that is terrible, but the knowledge of it: it would be utterly
+impossible to live if a man could know exactly and definitely the day
+and hour of his death. And the fools cautioned me: 'At one o'clock in
+the afternoon, your Excellency!'"
+
+He began to feel light-hearted and cheerful, as if some one had told
+him that he was immortal, that he would never die. And, feeling himself
+again strong and wise amidst the herd of fools who had so stupidly and
+impudently broken into the mystery of the future, he began to think of
+the bliss of ignorance, and his thoughts were the painful thoughts of an
+old, sick man who had gone through endless experience. It was not given
+to any living being--man or beast--to know the day and hour of death.
+Here had he been ill not long ago and the physicians told him that he
+must expect the end, that he should make his final arrangements--but he
+had not believed them and he remained alive. In his youth he had become
+entangled in an affair and had resolved to end his life; he had even
+loaded the revolver, had written his letters, and had fixed upon the
+hour for suicide--but before the very end he had suddenly changed his
+mind. It would always be thus--at the very last moment something would
+change, an unexpected accident would befall--no one could tell when he
+would die.
+
+"At one o'clock in the afternoon, your Excellency!" those kind asses had
+said to him, and although they had told him of it only that death might
+be averted, the mere knowledge of its possibility at a certain hour
+again filled him with horror. It was probable that some day he should
+be assassinated, but it would not happen to-morrow--it would not happen
+to-morrow--and he could sleep undisturbed, as if he were really immortal.
+Fools--they did not know what a great law they had dislodged, what an
+abyss they had opened, when they said in their idiotic kindness: "At one
+o'clock in the afternoon, your Excellency!"
+
+"No, not at one o'clock in the afternoon, your Excellency, but no one
+knows when. No one knows when! What?"
+
+"Nothing," answered Silence, "nothing."
+
+"But you did say something."
+
+"Nothing, nonsense. I say: to-morrow, at one o'clock in the afternoon!"
+
+There was a sudden, acute pain in his heart--and he understood that he
+would have neither sleep, nor peace, nor joy until that accursed black
+hour standing out of the dial should have passed. Only the shadow of the
+knowledge of something which no living being could know stood there in
+the corner, and that was enough to darken the world and envelop him
+with the impenetrable gloom of horror. The once disturbed fear of death
+diffused through his body, penetrated into his bones.
+
+He no longer feared the murderers of the next day--they had vanished,
+they had been forgotten, they had mingled with the crowd of hostile
+faces and incidents which surrounded his life. He now feared something
+sudden and inevitable--an apoplectic stroke, heart failure, some foolish
+thin little vessel which might suddenly fail to withstand the pressure
+of the blood and might burst like a tight glove upon swollen fingers.
+
+His short, thick neck seemed terrible to him. It became unbearable for
+him to look upon his short, swollen fingers--to feel how short they were
+and how they were filled with the moisture of death. And if before, when
+it was dark, he had had to stir in order not to resemble a corpse, now
+in the bright, cold, inimical, dreadful light he was so filled with
+horror that he could not move in order to get a cigarette or to ring for
+some one. His nerves were giving way. Each one of them seemed as if it
+were a bent wire, at the top of which there was a small head with mad,
+wide-open frightened eyes and a convulsively gaping, speechless mouth.
+He could not draw his breath.
+
+Suddenly in the darkness, amidst the dust and cobwebs somewhere upon
+the ceiling, an electric bell came to life. The small, metallic tongue,
+agitatedly, in terror, kept striking the edge of the ringing cap,
+became silent--and again quivered in an unceasing, frightened din. His
+Excellency was ringing his bell in his own room.
+
+People began to run. Here and there, in the shadows upon the walls,
+lamps flared up--there were not enough of them to give light, but there
+were enough to cast shadows. The shadows appeared everywhere; they rose
+in the corners, they stretched across the ceiling; tremulously clinging
+to each and every elevation, they covered the walls. And it was hard
+to understand where all these innumerable, deformed silent
+shadows--voiceless souls of voiceless objects--had been before.
+
+A deep, trembling voice said something loudly. Then the doctor was
+hastily summoned by telephone; the dignitary was collapsing. The wife of
+his Excellency was also called.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II CONDEMNED TO BE HANGED
+
+
+Everything befell as the police had foretold. Four terrorists, three
+men and a woman, armed with bombs, infernal machines and revolvers, were
+seized at the very entrance of the house, and another woman was later
+found and arrested in the house where the conspiracy had been hatched.
+She was its mistress. At the same time a great deal of dynamite and
+half finished bomb explosives were seized. All those arrested were very
+young; the eldest of the men was twenty-eight years old, the younger
+of the women was only nineteen. They were tried in the same fortress in
+which they were imprisoned after the arrest; they were tried swiftly and
+secretly, as was done during that unmerciful time.
+
+At the trial all of them were calm, but very serious and thoughtful.
+Their contempt for the judges was so intense that none of them wished
+to emphasize his daring by even a superfluous smile or by a feigned
+expression of cheerfulness. Each was simply as calm as was necessary to
+hedge in his soul, from curious, evil and inimical eyes, the great gloom
+that precedes death.
+
+Sometimes they refused to answer questions; sometimes they answered,
+briefly, simply and precisely, as though they were answering not the
+judge, but statisticians, for the purpose of supplying information for
+particular special tables. Three of them, one woman and two men, gave
+their real names, while two others refused and thus remained unknown to
+the judges.
+
+They manifested for all that was going on at the trial a certain
+curiosity, softened, as though through a haze, such as is peculiar
+to persons who are very ill or are carried away by some great,
+all-absorbing idea. They glanced up occasionally, caught some word in
+the air more interesting than the others, and then resumed the thought
+from which their attention had been distracted.
+
+The man who was nearest to the judges called himself Sergey Golovin, the
+son of a retired colonel, himself an ex-officer. He was still a very
+young, light-haired, broad-shouldered man, so strong that neither the
+prison nor the expectation of inevitable death could remove the color
+from his cheeks and the expression of youthful, happy frankness from his
+blue eyes. He kept energetically tugging at his bushy, small beard,
+to which he had not become accustomed, and continually blinking, kept
+looking out of the window.
+
+It was toward the end of winter, when amidst the snowstorms and the
+gloomy, frosty days, the approaching spring sent as a forerunner a
+clear, warm, sunny day, or but an hour, yet so full of spring, so
+eagerly young and beaming that sparrows on the streets lost their wits
+for joy, and people seemed almost as intoxicated. And now the strange
+and beautiful sky could be seen through an upper window which was
+dust-covered and unwashed since the last summer. At first sight the sky
+seemed to be milky-gray-smoke-colored--but when you looked longer the
+dark blue color began to penetrate through the shade, grew into an ever
+deeper blue--ever brighter, ever more intense. And the fact that it did
+not reveal itself all at once, but hid itself chastely in the smoke of
+transparent clouds, made it as charming as the girl you love. And Sergey
+Golovin looked at the sky, tugged at his beard, blinked now one eye,
+now the other, with its long, curved lashes, earnestly pondering over
+something. Once he began to move his fingers rapidly and thoughtlessly,
+knitted his brow in some joy, but then he glanced about and his joy died
+out like a spark which is stepped upon. Almost instantly an earthen,
+deathly blue, without first changing into pallor, showed through the
+color of his cheeks. He clutched his downy hair, tore their roots
+painfully with his fingers, whose tips had turned white. But the joy of
+life and spring was stronger, and a few minutes later his frank young
+face was again yearning toward the spring sky. The young, pale girl,
+known only by the name of Musya, was also looking in the same direction,
+at the sky. She was younger than Golovin, but she seemed older in her
+gravity and in the darkness of her open, proud eyes. Only her very thin,
+slender neck, and her delicate girlish hands spoke of her youth; but in
+addition there was that ineffable something, which is youth itself,
+and which sounded so distinctly in her clear, melodious voice, tuned
+irreproachably like a precious instrument, every simple word, every
+exclamation giving evidence of its musical timbre. She was very pale,
+but it was not a deathly pallor, but that peculiar warm whiteness of a
+person within whom, as it were, a great, strong fire is burning, whose
+body glows transparently like fine Sevres porcelain. She sat almost
+motionless, and only at times she touched with an imperceptible movement
+of her fingers the circular mark on the middle finger of her right hand,
+the mark of a ring which had been recently removed.
+
+She gazed at the sky without caressing kindness or joyous
+recollections--she looked at it simply because in all the filthy,
+official hall the blue bit of sky was the most beautiful, the purest,
+the most truthful object, and the only one that did not try to search
+hidden depths in her eyes.
+
+The judges pitied Sergey Golovin; her they despised.
+
+Her neighbor, known only by the name of Werner, sat also motionless, in
+a somewhat affected pose, his hands folded between his knees. If a face
+may be said to look like a false door, this unknown man closed his
+face like an iron door and bolted it with an iron lock. He stared
+motionlessly at the dirty wooden floor, and it was impossible to tell
+whether he was calm or whether he was intensely agitated, whether he was
+thinking of something, or whether he was listening to the testimony of
+the detectives as presented to the court. He was not tall in stature.
+His features were refined and delicate. Tender and handsome, so that he
+reminded you of a moonlit night in the South near the seashore, where
+the cypress trees throw their dark shadows, he at the same time gave the
+impression of tremendous, calm power, of invincible firmness, of cold
+and audacious courage. The very politeness with which he gave brief and
+precise answers seemed dangerous, on his lips, in his half bow. And if
+the prison garb looked upon the others like the ridiculous costume of
+a buffoon, upon him it was not noticeable, so foreign was it to his
+personality. And although the other terrorists had been seized with
+bombs and infernal machines upon them, and Werner had had but a black
+revolver, the judges for some reason regarded him as the leader of the
+others and treated him with a certain deference, although succinctly and
+in a business--like manner.
+
+The next man, Vasily Kashirin, was torn between a terrible, dominating
+fear of death and a desperate desire to restrain the fear and not betray
+it to the judges. From early morning, from the time they had been led
+into court, he had been suffocating from an intolerable palpitation of
+his heart. Perspiration came out in drops all along his forehead; his
+hands were also perspiring and cold, and his cold, sweat-covered shirt
+clung to his body, interfering with the freedom of his movements. With a
+supernatural effort of will-power he forced his fingers not to tremble,
+his voice to be firm and distinct, his eyes to be calm. He saw nothing
+about him; the voices came to him as through a mist, and it was to this
+mist that he made his desperate efforts to answer firmly, to answer
+loudly. But having answered, he immediately forgot question as well as
+answer, and was again struggling with himself silently and terribly.
+Death was disclosed in him so clearly that the judges avoided looking at
+him. It was hard to define his age, as is the case with a corpse
+which has begun to decompose. According to his passport, he was only
+twenty-three years old. Once or twice Werner quietly touched his knee
+with his hand, and each time Kashirin spoke shortly:
+
+"Never mind!"
+
+The most terrible sensation was when he was suddenly seized with an
+insufferable desire to cry out, without words, the desperate cry of a
+beast. He touched Werner quickly, and Werner, without lifting his eyes,
+said softly:
+
+"Never mind, Vasya. It will soon be over."
+
+And embracing them all with a motherly, anxious look, the fifth
+terrorist, Tanya Kovalchuk, was faint with alarm. She had never had any
+children; she was still young and red-cheeked, just as Sergey Golovin,
+but she seemed as a mother to all of them: so full of anxiety, of
+boundless love were her looks, her smiles, her sighs. She paid not
+the slightest attention to the trial, regarding it as though it were
+something entirely irrelevant, and she listened only to the manner in
+which the others were answering the questions, to hear whether the voice
+was trembling, whether there was fear, whether it was necessary to give
+water to any one.
+
+She could not look at Vasya in her anguish and only wrung her fingers
+silently. At Musya and Werner she gazed proudly and respectfully, and
+she assumed a serious and concentrated expression, and then tried to
+transfer her smile to Sergey Golovin.
+
+"The dear boy is looking at the sky. Look, look, my darling!" she
+thought about Golovin.
+
+"And Vasya! What is it? My God, my God! What am I to do with him? If I
+should speak to him I might make it still worse. He might suddenly start
+to cry."
+
+So like a calm pond at dawn, reflecting every hastening, passing cloud,
+she reflected upon her full, gentle, kind face every swift sensation,
+every thought of the other four. She did not give a single thought to
+the fact that she, too, was upon trial, that she, too, would be hanged;
+she was entirely indifferent to it. It was in her house that the bombs
+and the dynamite had been discovered, and, strange though it may seem,
+it was she who had met the police with pistol-shots and had wounded one
+of the detectives in the head.
+
+The trial ended at about eight o'clock, when it had become dark. Before
+Musya's and Golovin's eyes the sky, which had been turning ever bluer,
+was gradually losing its tint, but it did not turn rosy, did not smile
+softly as in summer evenings, but became muddy, gray, and suddenly grew
+cold, wintry. Golovin heaved a sigh, stretched himself, glanced again
+twice at the window, but the cold darkness of the night alone was there;
+then continuing to tug at his short beard, he began to examine with
+childish curiosity the judges, the soldiers with their muskets, and
+he smiled at Tanya Kovalchuk. When the sky had darkened Musya calmly,
+without lowering her eyes to the ground, turned them to the corner where
+a small cobweb was quivering from the imperceptible radiations of the
+steam heat, and thus she remained until the sentence was pronounced.
+
+After the verdict, having bidden good-by to their frock-coated lawyers,
+and evading each other's helplessly confused, pitying and guilty
+eyes, the convicted terrorists crowded in the doorway for a moment and
+exchanged brief words.
+
+"Never mind, Vasya. Everything will be over soon," said Werner.
+
+"I am all right, brother," Kashirin replied loudly, calmly and even
+somewhat cheerfully. And indeed, his face had turned slightly rosy, and
+no longer looked like that of a decomposing corpse.
+
+"The devil take them; they've hanged us," Golovin cursed quaintly.
+
+"That was to be expected," replied Werner calmly.
+
+"To-morrow the sentence will be pronounced in its final form and we
+shall all be placed together," said Tanya Kovalchuk consolingly. "Until
+the execution we shall all be together."
+
+Musya was silent. Then she resolutely moved forward.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III WHY SHOULD I BE HANGED?
+
+
+Two weeks before the terrorists had been tried the same military
+district court, with a different set of judges, had tried and condemned
+to death by hanging Ivan Yanson, a peasant.
+
+Ivan Yanson was a workman for a well-to-do farmer, in no way different
+from other workmen. He was an Esthonian by birth, from Vezenberg, and
+in the course of several years, passing from one farm to another, he
+had come close to the capital. He spoke Russian very poorly, and as his
+master was a Russian, by name Lazarev, and as there were no Esthonians
+in the neighborhood, Yanson had practically remained silent for almost
+two years. In general, he was apparently not inclined to talk, and was
+silent not only with human beings, but even with animals. He would water
+the horse in silence, harness it in silence, moving about it, slowly and
+lazily, with short, irresolute steps, and when the horse, annoyed by his
+manner, would begin to frolic, to become capricious, he would beat it in
+silence with a heavy whip. He would beat it cruelly, with stolid, angry
+persistency, and when this happened at a time when he was suffering from
+the aftereffects of a carouse, he would work himself into a frenzy. At
+such times the crack of the whip could be heard in the house, with the
+frightened, painful pounding of the horse's hoofs upon the board floor
+of the barn. For beating the horse his master would beat Yanson, but
+then, finding that he could not be reformed, paid no more attention to
+him.
+
+Once or twice a month Yanson became intoxicated, usually on those days
+when he took his master to the large railroad station, where there was a
+refreshment bar. After leaving his master at the station, he would drive
+off about half a verst away, and there, stalling the sled and the horse
+in the snow on the side of the road, he would wait until the train
+had gone. The sled would stand sideways, almost overturned, the horse
+standing with widely spread legs up to his belly in a snow-bank, from
+time to time lowering his head to lick the soft, downy snow, while
+Yanson would recline in an awkward position in the sled as if dozing
+away. The unfastened ear-lappets of his worn fur cap would hang down
+like the ears of a setter, and the moist sweat would stand under his
+little reddish nose.
+
+Soon he would return to the station, and would quickly become
+intoxicated.
+
+On his way back to the farm, the whole ten versts, he would drive at
+a fast gallop. The little horse, driven to madness by the whip, would
+rear, as if possessed by a demon; the sled would sway, almost overturn,
+striking against poles, and Yanson, letting the reins go, would half
+sing, half exclaim abrupt, meaningless phrases in Esthonian. But more
+often he would not sing, but with his teeth gritted together in an
+onrush of unspeakable rage, suffering and delight, he would drive
+silently on as though blind. He would not notice those who passed him,
+he would not call to them to look out, he would not slacken his mad
+pace, either at the turns of the road or on the long slopes of the
+mountain roads. How it happened at such times that he crushed no one,
+how he himself was never dashed to death in one of these mad rides, was
+inexplicable.
+
+He would have been driven from this place, as he had been driven from
+other places, but he was cheap and other workmen were not better, and
+thus he remained there two years. His life was uneventful. One day
+he received a letter, written in Esthonian, but as he himself was
+illiterate, and as the others did not understand Esthonian, the letter
+remained unread; and as if not understanding that the letter might bring
+him tidings from his native home, he flung it into the manure with a
+certain savage, grim indifference. At one time Yanson tried to make
+love to the cook, but he was not successful, and was rudely rejected
+and ridiculed. He was short in stature, his face was freckled, and his
+small, sleepy eyes were somewhat of an indefinite color. Yanson took his
+failure indifferently, and never again bothered the cook.
+
+But while Yanson spoke but little, he was listening to something all the
+time. He heard the sounds of the dismal, snow-covered fields, with their
+heaps of frozen manure resembling rows of small, snow-covered graves,
+the sounds of the blue, tender distance, of the buzzing telegraph wires,
+and the conversation of other people. What the fields and telegraph
+wires spoke to him he alone knew, and the conversation of the people
+were disquieting, full of rumors about murders and robberies and arson.
+And one night he heard in the neighboring village the little church bell
+ringing faintly and helplessly, and the crackling of the flames of a
+fire. Some vagabonds had plundered a rich farm, had killed the master
+and his wife, and had set fire to the house.
+
+And on their farm, too, they lived in fear; the dogs were loose, not
+only at night, but also during the day, and the master slept with a gun
+by his side. He wished to give such a gun to Yanson, only it was an old
+one with one barrel. But Yanson turned the gun about in his hand, shook
+his head and declined it. His master did not understand the reason and
+scolded him, but the reason was that Yanson had more faith in the power
+of his Finnish knife than in the rusty gun.
+
+"It would kill me," he said, looking at his master sleepily with his
+glassy eyes, and the master waved his hand in despair.
+
+"You fool! Think of having to live with such workmen!"
+
+And this same Ivan Yanson, who distrusted a gun, one winter evening,
+when the other workmen had been sent away to the station, committed a
+very complicated attempt at robbery, murder and rape. He did it in a
+surprisingly simple manner. He locked the cook in the kitchen, lazily,
+with the air of a man who is longing to sleep, walked over to his master
+from behind and swiftly stabbed him several times in the back with his
+knife. The master fell unconscious, and the mistress began to run about,
+screaming, while Yanson, showing his teeth and brandishing his knife,
+began to ransack the trunks and the chests of drawers. He found the
+money he sought, and then, as if noticing the mistress for the first
+time, and as though unexpectedly even to himself, he rushed upon her in
+order to violate her. But as he had let his knife drop to the floor, the
+mistress proved stronger than he, and not only did not allow him to harm
+her, but almost choked him into unconsciousness. Then the master on
+the floor turned, the cook thundered upon the door with the oven-fork,
+breaking it open, and Yanson ran away into the fields. He was caught an
+hour later, kneeling down behind the corner of the barn, striking one
+match after another, which would not ignite, in an attempt to set the
+place on fire.
+
+A few days later the master died of blood poisoning, and Yanson, when
+his turn among other robbers and murderers came, was tried and condemned
+to death. In court he was the same as always; a little man, freckled,
+with sleepy, glassy eyes. It seemed as if he did not understand in the
+least the meaning of what was going on about him; he appeared to be
+entirely indifferent. He blinked his white eyelashes, stupidly, without
+curiosity; examined the sombre, unfamiliar courtroom, and picked his
+nose with his hard, shriveled, unbending finger. Only those who had seen
+him on Sundays at church would have known that he had made an attempt
+to adorn himself. He wore on his neck a knitted, muddy-red shawl, and in
+places had dampened the hair of his head. Where the hair was wet it lay
+dark and smooth, while on the other side it stuck up in light and sparse
+tufts, like straws upon a hail-beaten, wasted meadow.
+
+When the sentence was pronounced--death by hanging--Yanson suddenly
+became agitated. He reddened deeply and began to tie and untie the shawl
+about his neck as though it were choking him. Then he waved his arms
+stupidly and said, turning to the judge who had not read the sentence,
+and pointing with his finger at the judge who read it:
+
+"He said that I should be hanged."
+
+"Who do you mean?" asked the presiding judge, who had pronounced the
+sentence in a deep, bass voice. Every one smiled; some tried to hide
+their smiles behind their mustaches and their papers. Yanson pointed his
+index finger at the presiding judge and answered angrily, looking at him
+askance:
+
+"You!"
+
+"Well?"
+
+Yanson again turned his eyes to the judge who had been silent,
+restraining a smile, whom he felt to be a friend, a man who had nothing
+to do with the sentence, and repeated:
+
+"He said I should be hanged. Why must I be hanged?"
+
+"Take the prisoner away."
+
+But Yanson succeeded in repeating once more, convincingly and weightily:
+
+"Why must I be hanged?"
+
+He looked so absurd, with his small, angry face, with his outstretched
+finger, that even the soldier of the convoy, breaking the rule, said to
+him in an undertone as he led him away from the courtroom:
+
+"You are a fool, young man!"
+
+"Why must I be hanged?" repeated Yanson stubbornly.
+
+"They'll swing you up so quickly that you'll have no time to kick."
+
+"Keep still!" cried the other convoy angrily. But he himself could not
+refrain from adding:
+
+"A robber, too! Why did you take a human life, you fool? You must hang
+for that!"
+
+"They might pardon him," said the first soldier, who began to feel sorry
+for Yanson.
+
+"Oh, yes! They'll pardon people like him, will they? Well, we've talked
+enough."
+
+But Yanson had become silent again.
+
+He was again placed in the cell in which he had already sat for a month
+and to which he had grown accustomed, just as he had become accustomed
+to everything: to blows, to vodka, to the dismal, snow-covered fields,
+with their snow-heaps resembling graves.
+
+And now he even began to feel cheerful when he saw his bed, the familiar
+window with the grating, and when he was given something to eat--he had
+not eaten anything since morning. He had an unpleasant recollection of
+what had taken place in the court, but of that he could not think--he
+was unable to recall it. And death by hanging he could not picture to
+himself at all.
+
+Although Yanson had been condemned to death, there were many others
+similarly sentenced, and he was not regarded as an important criminal.
+They spoke to him accordingly, with neither fear nor respect, just as
+they would speak to prisoners who were not to be executed. The warden,
+on learning of the verdict, said to him:
+
+"Well, my friend, they've hanged you!"
+
+"When are they going to hang me?" asked Yanson distrustfully. The warden
+meditated a moment.
+
+"Well, you'll have to wait--until they can get together a whole party. It
+isn't worth bothering for one man, especially for a man like you. It is
+necessary to work up the right spirit."
+
+"And when will that be?" persisted Yanson. He was not at all offended
+that it was not worth while to hang him alone. He did not believe it,
+but considered it as an excuse for postponing the execution, preparatory
+to revoking it altogether. And he was seized with joy; the confused,
+terrible moment, of which it was so painful to think, retreated far into
+the distance, becoming fictitious and improbable, as death always seems.
+
+"When? When?" cried the warden, a dull, morose old man, growing angry.
+"It isn't like hanging a dog, which you take behind the barn--and it is
+done in no time. I suppose you would like to be hanged like that, you
+fool!"
+
+"I don't want to be hanged," and suddenly Yanson frowned strangely. "He
+said that I should be hanged, but I don't want it."
+
+And perhaps for the first time in his life he laughed, a hoarse, absurd,
+yet gay and joyous laughter. It sounded like the cackling of a goose,
+Ga-ga-ga! The warden looked at him in astonishment, then knit his brow
+sternly. This strange gayety of a man who was to be executed was an
+offence to the prison, as well as to the very executioner; it made them
+appear absurd. And suddenly, for the briefest instant, it appeared
+to the old warden, who had passed all his life in the prison, and who
+looked upon its laws as the laws of nature, that the prison and all the
+life within it was something like an insane asylum, in which he, the
+warden, was the chief lunatic.
+
+"Pshaw! The devil take you!" and he spat aside. "Why are you giggling
+here? This is no dramshop!"
+
+"And I don't want to be hanged--gaga-ga!" laughed Yanson.
+
+"Satan!" muttered the inspector, feeling the need of making the sign of
+the cross.
+
+This little man, with his small, wizened face--he resembled least of all
+the devil--but there was that in his silly giggling which destroyed the
+sanctity and the strength of the prison. If he laughed longer, it seemed
+to the warden as if the walls might fall asunder, the grating melt
+and drop out, as if the warden himself might lead the prisoners to
+the gates, bowing and saying: "Take a walk in the city, gentlemen; or
+perhaps some of you would like to go to the village?"
+
+"Satan!"
+
+But Yanson had stopped laughing, and was now winking cunningly.
+
+"You had better look out!" said the warden, with an indefinite threat,
+and he walked away, glancing back of him.
+
+Yanson was calm and cheerful throughout the evening. He repeated to
+himself, "I shall not be hanged," and it seemed to him so convincing,
+so wise, so irrefutable, that it was unnecessary to feel uneasy. He had
+long forgotten about his crime, only sometimes he regretted that he had
+not been successful in attacking his master's wife. But he soon forgot
+that, too.
+
+Every morning Yanson asked when he was to be hanged, and every morning
+the warden answered him angrily:
+
+"Take your time, you devil! Wait!" and he would walk off quickly before
+Yanson could begin to laugh.
+
+And from these monotonously repeated words, and from the fact that each
+day came, passed and ended as every ordinary day had passed, Yanson
+became convinced that there would be no execution. He began to lose
+all memory of the trial, and would roll about all day long on his cot,
+vaguely and happily dreaming about the white melancholy fields, with
+their snow-mounds, about the refreshment bar at the railroad station,
+and about other things still more vague and bright. He was well fed in
+the prison, and somehow he began to grow stout rapidly and to assume
+airs.
+
+"Now she would have liked me," he thought of his master's wife. "Now I
+am stout--not worse-looking than the master." But he longed for a drink
+of vodka, to drink and to take a ride on horseback, to ride fast, madly.
+
+When the terrorists were arrested the news of it reached the prison.
+And in answer to Yanson's usual question, the warden said eagerly and
+unexpectedly:
+
+"It won't be long now!"
+
+He looked at Yanson calmly with an air of importance and repeated:
+
+"It won't be long now. I suppose in about a week."
+
+Yanson turned pale, and as though falling asleep, so turbid was the look
+in his glassy eyes, asked:
+
+"Are you joking?"
+
+"First you could not wait, and now you think I am joking. We are not
+allowed to joke here. You like to joke, but we are not allowed to," said
+the warden with dignity as he went away.
+
+Toward evening of that day Yanson had already grown thinner. His skin,
+which had stretched out and had become smooth for a time, was suddenly
+covered with a multitude of small wrinkles, and in places it seemed even
+to hang down. His eyes became sleepy, and all his motions were now
+so slow and languid as though each turn of the head, each move of
+the fingers, each step of the foot were a complicated and cumbersome
+undertaking which required very careful deliberation. At night he lay
+on his cot, but did not close his eyes, and thus, heavy with sleep, they
+remained open until morning.
+
+"Aha!" said the warden with satisfaction, seeing him on the following
+day. "This is no dramshop for you, my dear!"
+
+With a feeling of pleasant gratification, like a scientist whose
+experiment had proved successful again, he examined the condemned man
+closely and carefully from head to foot. Now everything would go along
+as necessary. Satan was disgraced, the sacredness of the prison and the
+execution was re-established, and the old man inquired condescendingly,
+even with a feeling of sincere pity:
+
+"Do you want to meet somebody or not?"
+
+"What for?"
+
+"Well, to say good-by! Have you no mother, for instance, or a brother?"
+
+"I must not be hanged," said Yanson softly, and looked askance at the
+warden. "I don't want to be hanged."
+
+The warden looked at him and waved his hand in silence.
+
+Toward evening Yanson grew somewhat calmer.
+
+The day had been so ordinary, the cloudy winter sky looked so ordinary,
+the footsteps of people and their conversation on matters of business
+sounded so ordinary, the smell of the sour soup of cabbage was so
+ordinary, customary and natural that he again ceased believing in the
+execution. But the night became terrible to him. Before this Yanson had
+felt the night simply as darkness, as an especially dark time, when
+it was necessary to go to sleep, but now he began to be aware of its
+mysterious and uncanny nature. In order not to believe in death, it was
+necessary to hear and see and feel ordinary things about him, footsteps,
+voices, light, the soup of sour cabbage. But in the dark everything was
+unnatural; the silence and the darkness were in themselves something
+like death.
+
+And the longer the night dragged the more dreadful it became. With
+the ignorant innocence of a child or a savage, who believe everything
+possible, Yanson felt like crying to the sun: "Shine!" He begged, he
+implored that the sun should shine, but the night drew its long, dark
+hours remorselessly over the earth, and there was no power that could
+hasten its course. And this impossibility, arising for the first time
+before the weak consciousness of Yanson, filled him with terror. Still
+not daring to realize it clearly, he already felt the inevitability
+of approaching death, and felt himself making the first step upon the
+gallows, with benumbed feet.
+
+Day quieted him, but night again filled him with fear, and so it was
+until one night when he realized fully that death was inevitable, that
+it would come in three days at dawn with the sunrise.
+
+He had never thought of what death was, and it had no image to him--but
+now he realized clearly, he saw, he felt that it had entered his cell
+and was looking for him, groping about with its hands. And to save
+himself, he began to run wildly about the room.
+
+But the cell was so small that it seemed that its corners were not sharp
+but dull, and that all of them were pushing him into the center of
+the room. And there was nothing behind which to hide. And the door was
+locked. And it was dark. Several times he struck his body against the
+walls, making no sound, and once he struck against the door--it gave
+forth a dull, empty sound. He stumbled over something and fell upon
+his face, and then he felt that IT was going to seize him. Lying on
+his stomach, holding to the floor, hiding his face in the dark, dirty
+asphalt, Yanson howled in terror. He lay; and cried at the top of his
+voice until some one came. And when he was lifted from the floor and
+seated upon the cot, and cold water was poured over his head, he still
+did not dare open his tightly closed eyes. He opened one eye, and
+noticing some one's boot in one of the corners of the room, he commenced
+crying again.
+
+But the cold water began to produce its effect in bringing him to
+his senses. To help the effect, the warden on duty, the same old man,
+administered medicine to Yanson in the form of several blows upon the
+head. And this sensation of life returning to him really drove the
+fear of death away. Yanson opened his eyes, and then, his mind utterly
+confused, he slept soundly for the remainder of the night. He lay on his
+back, with mouth open, and snored loudly, and between his lashes, which
+were not tightly closed, his flat, dead eyes, which were upturned so
+that the pupil did not show, could be seen.
+
+Later, everything in the world--day and night, footsteps, voices, the
+soup of sour cabbage, produced in him a continuous terror, plunging him
+into a state of savage uncomprehending astonishment. His weak mind was
+unable to combine these two things which so monstrously contradicted
+each other--the bright day, the odor and taste of cabbage--and the fact
+that two days later he must die. He did not think of anything. He did
+not even count the hours, but simply stood in mute stupefaction before
+this contradiction which tore his brain in two. And he became evenly
+pale, neither white nor redder in parts, and appeared to be calm. Only
+he ate nothing and ceased sleeping altogether. He sat all night long on
+a stool, his legs crossed under him, in fright. Or he walked about in
+his cell, quietly, stealthily, and sleepily looking about him on all
+sides. His mouth was half-open all the time, as though from incessant
+astonishment, and before taking the most ordinary thing into his
+hands, he would examine it stupidly for a long time, and would take it
+distrustfully.
+
+When he became thus, the wardens as well as the sentinel who watched him
+through the little window, ceased paying further attention to him. This
+was the customary condition of prisoners, and reminded the wardens of
+cattle being led to slaughter after a staggering blow.
+
+"Now he is stunned, now he will feel nothing until his very death," said
+the warden, looking at him with experienced eyes. "Ivan! Do you hear?
+Ivan!"
+
+"I must not be hanged," answered Yanson, in a dull voice, and his lower
+jaw again drooped.
+
+"You should not have committed murder. You would not be hanged then,"
+answered the chief warden, a young but very important-looking man with
+medals on his chest. "You committed murder, yet you do not want to be
+hanged?"
+
+"He wants to kill human beings without paying for it. Fool! fool!" said
+another.
+
+"I don't want to be hanged," said Yanson.
+
+"Well, my friend, you may want it or not, that's your affair," replied
+the chief warden indifferently. "Instead of talking nonsense, you had
+better arrange your affairs. You still have something."
+
+"He has nothing. One shirt and a suit of clothes. And a fur cap! A
+sport!"
+
+Thus time passed until Thursday. And on Thursday, at midnight a number
+of people entered Yanson's cell, and one man, with shoulder-straps,
+said:
+
+"Well, get ready. We must go."
+
+Yanson, moving slowly and drowsily as before, put on everything he
+had and tied his muddy-red muffler about his neck. The man with
+shoulder-straps, smoking a cigarette, said to some one while watching
+Yanson dress:
+
+"What a warm day this will be. Real spring."
+
+Yanson's small eyes were closing; he seemed to be falling asleep, and he
+moved so slowly and stiffly that the warden cried to him:
+
+"Hey, there! Quicker! Have you fallen asleep?"
+
+Suddenly Yanson stopped.
+
+"I don't want to be hanged," said he.
+
+He was taken by the arms and led away, and began to stride obediently,
+raising his shoulders. Outside he found himself in the moist, spring
+air, and beads of sweat stood under his little nose. Notwithstanding
+that it was night, it was thawing very strongly and drops of water were
+dripping upon the stones. And waiting while the soldiers, clanking their
+sabres and bending their heads, were stepping into the unlighted black
+carriage, Yanson lazily moved his finger under his moist nose and
+adjusted the badly tied muffler about his neck.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV WE COME FROM ORYOL
+
+
+The same council-chamber of the military district court which had
+condemned Yanson had also condemned to death a peasant of the Government
+of Oryol, of the District of Yeletzk, Mikhail Golubets, nicknamed
+Tsiganok, also Tatarin. His latest crime, proven beyond question, had
+been the murder of three people and armed robbery. Behind that, his dark
+past disappeared in a depth of mystery. There were vague rumors that he
+had participated in a series of other murders and robberies, and in
+his path there was felt to be a dark trail of blood, fire, and drunken
+debauchery. He called himself murderer with utter frankness and
+sincerity, and scornfully regarded those who, according to the latest
+fashion, styled themselves "expropriators." Of his last crime, since it
+was useless for him to deny anything, he spoke freely and in detail,
+but in answer to questions about his past, he merely gritted his teeth,
+whistled, and said:
+
+"Search for the wind of the fields!"
+
+When he was annoyed in cross-examination, Tsiganok assumed a serious and
+dignified air:
+
+"All of us from Oryol are thoroughbreds," he would say gravely and
+deliberately. "Oryol and Kroma are the homes of first-class thieves.
+Karachev and Livna are the breeding-places of thieves. And Yeletz--is the
+parent of all thieves. Now--what else is there to say?"
+
+He was nicknamed Tsiganok (gypsy) because of his appearance and his
+thievish manner. He was black-haired, lean, with yellow spots on his
+prominent, "Tartar-like" cheek-bones. His glance was swift, brief, but
+fearfully direct and searching, and the thing upon which he looked for
+a moment seemed to lose something, seemed to deliver up to him a part
+of itself, and to become something else. It was just as unpleasant
+and repugnant to take a cigarette at which he looked, as though it had
+already been in his mouth. There was a certain constant restlessness in
+him, now twisting him like a rag, now throwing him about like a body of
+coiling live wires. And he drank water almost by the bucket.
+
+To all questions during the trial he answered shortly, firmly, jumping
+up quickly, and at times he seemed to answer even with pleasure.
+
+"Correct!" he would say.
+
+Sometimes he emphasized it.
+
+"Cor-r-rect!"
+
+At one time, suddenly, when they were speaking of something that would
+hardly have seemed to suggest it, he jumped to his feet and asked the
+presiding judge:
+
+"Will you allow me to whistle?"
+
+"What for?" asked the judge, surprised.
+
+"They said that I gave the signal to my comrades. I would like to show
+you how. It is very interesting."
+
+The judge consented, somewhat wonderingly. Tsiganok quickly placed
+four fingers in his mouth, two fingers of each hand, rolled his eyes
+fiercely--and then the dead air of the courtroom was suddenly rent by a
+real, wild, murderer's whistle--at which frightened horses leap and rear
+on their hind legs and human faces involuntarily blanch. The mortal
+anguish of him who is to be assassinated, the wild joy of the murderer,
+the dreadful warning, the call, the gloom and loneliness of a stormy
+autumn night--all this rang in his piercing shriek, which was neither
+human nor beastly.
+
+The presiding officer shouted--then waved his arm at Tsiganok,
+and Tsiganok obediently became silent. And, like an artist who had
+triumphantly performed a difficult aria, he sat down, wiped his wet
+fingers upon his coat, and surveyed those present with an air of
+satisfaction.
+
+"What a robber!" said one of the judges, rubbing his ear.
+
+Another one, however, with a wild Russian beard, but with the eyes of a
+Tartar, like those of Tsiganok, gazed pensively above Tsiganok's head,
+then smiled and remarked:
+
+"It is indeed interesting."
+
+With light hearts, without mercy, without the slightest pangs of
+conscience, the judges brought out against Tsiganok a verdict of death.
+
+"Correct!" said Tsiganok, when the verdict was pronounced. "In the open
+field and on a cross-beam! Correct!"
+
+And turning to the convoy, he hurled with bravado:
+
+"Well, are we not going? Come on, you sour-coat. And hold your gun--I
+might take it away from you!"
+
+The soldier looked at him sternly, with fear, exchanged glances with his
+comrade, and felt the lock of his gun. The other did the same. And all
+the way to the prison the soldiers felt that they were not walking
+but flying through the air--as if hypnotized by the prisoner, they felt
+neither the ground beneath their feet, nor the passage of time, nor
+themselves.
+
+Mishka Tsiganok, like Yanson, had had to spend seventeen days in prison
+before his execution. And all seventeen days passed as though they were
+one day--they were bound up in one inextinguishable thought of escape, of
+freedom, of life. The restlessness of Tsiganok, which was now repressed
+by the walls and the bars and the dead window through which nothing
+could be seen, turned all its fury upon himself and burned his soul
+like coals scattered upon boards. As though he were in a drunken vapor,
+bright but incomplete images swarmed upon him, failing and then becoming
+confused, and then again rushing through his mind in an unrestrainable
+blinding whirlwind--and all were bent toward escape, toward liberty,
+toward life. With his nostrils expanded, like those of a horse, Tsiganok
+smelt the air for hours long--it seemed to him that he could smell the
+odor of hemp, of the smoke of fire--the colorless and biting smell of
+burning. Now he whirled about in the room like a top, touching the
+walls, tapping them nervously with his fingers from time to time, taking
+aim, boring the ceiling with his gaze, filing the prison bars. By his
+restlessness, he had tired out the soldiers who watched him through the
+little window, and who, several times, in despair, had threatened to
+shoot. Tsiganok would retort, coarsely and derisively, and the quarrel
+would end peacefully because the dispute would soon turn into boorish,
+unoffending abuse, after which shooting would have seemed absurd and
+impossible.
+
+Tsiganok slept during the nights soundly, without stirring, in
+unchanging yet live motionlessness, like a wire spring in temporary
+inactivity. But as soon as he arose, he immediately commenced to walk,
+to plan, to grope about. His hands were always dry and hot, but his
+heart at times would suddenly grow cold, as if a cake of unmelting ice
+had been placed upon his chest, sending a slight, dry shiver through his
+whole body. At such times, Tsiganok, always dark in complexion, would
+turn black, assuming the shade of bluish cast-iron. And he acquired a
+curious habit; as though he had eaten too much of something sickeningly
+sweet, he kept licking his lips, smacking them, and would spit on the
+floor, hissingly, through his teeth. When he spoke, he did not finish
+his words, so rapidly did his thoughts run that his tongue was unable to
+compass them.
+
+One day the chief warden, accompanied by a soldier, entered his cell. He
+looked askance at the floor and said gruffly:
+
+"Look! How dirty he has made it!"
+
+Tsiganok retorted quickly:
+
+"You've made the whole world dirty, you fat-face, and yet I haven't said
+anything to you. What brings you here?"
+
+The warden, speaking as gruffly as before, asked him whether he would
+act as executioner. Tsiganok burst out laughing, showing his teeth.
+
+"You can't find any one else? That's good! Go ahead, hang! Ha! ha! ha!
+The necks are there, the rope is there, but there is nobody to string it
+up. By God! that's good!"
+
+"You'll save your neck if you do it."
+
+"Of course--I couldn't hang them if I were dead. Well said, you fool!"
+
+"Well, what do you say? Is it all the same to you?"
+
+"And how do you hang them here? I suppose they're choked on the sly."
+
+"No, with music," snarled the warden.
+
+"Well, what a fool! Of course it can be done with music. This way!" and
+he began to sing, with a bold and daring swing.
+
+"You have lost your wits, my friend," said the warden. "What do you say?
+Speak sensibly."
+
+Tsiganok grinned.
+
+"How eager you are! Come another time and I'll tell you."
+
+After that, into that chaos of bright, yet incomplete images which
+oppressed Tsiganok by their impetuosity, a new image came--how good
+it would be to become a hangman in a red shirt. He pictured to himself
+vividly a square crowded with people, a high scaffold, and he, Tsiganok,
+in a red shirt walking about upon the scaffold with an ax. The sun shone
+overhead, gaily flashing from the ax, and everything was so gay and
+bright that even the man whose head was soon to be chopped off was
+smiling. And behind the crowd, wagons and the heads of horses could be
+seen--the peasants had come from the village; and beyond them, further,
+he could see the village itself.
+
+"Ts-akh!"
+
+Tsiganok smacked his lips, licking them, and spat. And suddenly he felt
+as though a fur cap had been pushed over his head to his very mouth--it
+became black and stifling, and his heart again became like a cake of
+unmelting ice, sending a slight, dry shiver through his whole body.
+
+The warden came in twice again, and Tsiganok, showing his teeth, said:
+
+"How eager you are! Come in again!"
+
+Finally one day the warden shouted through the casement window as he
+passed rapidly:
+
+"You've let your chance slip by, you fool! We've found somebody else."
+
+"The devil take you! Hang yourself!" snarled Tsiganok, and he stopped
+dreaming of the execution.
+
+But toward the end, the nearer he approached the time, the weight of the
+fragments of his broken images became unbearable. Tsiganok now felt
+like standing still, like spreading his legs and standing--but a whirling
+current of thoughts carried him away and there was nothing at which
+he could clutch--everything about him swam. And his sleep also became
+uneasy. Dreams even more violent than his thoughts appeared--new dreams,
+solid, heavy, like wooden painted blocks. And it was no longer like a
+current, but like an endless fall to an endless depth, a whirling flight
+through the whole visible world of colors.
+
+When Tsiganok was free he had worn only a pair of dashing mustaches, but
+in the prison a short, black, bristly beard grew on his face and it made
+him look fearsome, insane. At times Tsiganok really lost his senses
+and whirled absurdly about in the cell, still tapping upon the rough,
+plastered walls nervously. And he drank water like a horse.
+
+At times toward evening when they lit the lamp, Tsiganok would stand on
+all fours in the middle of his cell and would howl the quivering howl
+of a wolf. He was peculiarly serious while doing it, and would howl as
+though he were performing an important and indispensable act. He would
+fill his chest with air and then exhale it, slowly in a prolonged
+tremulous howl, and, cocking his eyes, would listen intently as the
+sound issued forth. And the very quiver in his voice seemed in a manner
+intentional. He did not scream wildly, but drew out each note carefully
+in that mournful wail full of untold sorrow and terror.
+
+Then he would suddenly break off howling and for several minutes would
+remain silent, still standing on all fours. Then suddenly he would
+mutter softly, staring at the ground:
+
+"My darlings, my sweethearts!... My darlings, my sweethearts! have
+pity.... My darlings!... My sweethearts!"
+
+And it seemed again as if he were listening intently to his own voice.
+As he said each word he would listen.
+
+Then he would jump up and for a whole hour would curse continually.
+
+He cursed picturesquely, shouting and rolling his blood-shot eyes.
+
+"If you hang me--hang me!" and he would burst out cursing again.
+
+And the sentinel, in the meantime white as chalk, weeping with pain and
+fright, would knock at the door with the butt-end of the gun and cry
+helplessly:
+
+"I'll fire! I'll kill you as sure as I live! Do you hear?"
+
+But he dared not shoot. If there was no actual rebellion they never
+fired at those who had been condemned to death. And Tsiganok would gnash
+his teeth, would curse and spit. His brain thus racked on a monstrously
+sharp blade between life and death was falling to pieces like a lump of
+dry clay.
+
+When they entered the cell at midnight to lead Tsiganok to the execution
+he began to bustle about and seemed to have recovered his spirits.
+Again he had that sweet taste in his mouth, and his saliva collected
+abundantly, but his cheeks turned rosy and in his eyes began to glisten
+his former somewhat savage slyness. Dressing himself he asked the
+official:
+
+"Who is going to do the hanging? A new man? I suppose he hasn't learned
+his job yet."
+
+"You needn't worry about it," answered the official dryly.
+
+"I can't help worrying, your Honor. I am going to be hanged, not you. At
+least don't be stingy with the government's soap on the noose."
+
+"All right, all right! Keep quiet!"
+
+"This man here has eaten all your soap," said Tsiganok, pointing to the
+warden. "See how his face shines."
+
+"Silence!"
+
+"Don't be stingy!"
+
+And Tsiganok burst out laughing. But he began to feel that it was
+getting ever sweeter in his mouth, and suddenly his legs began to
+feel strangely numb. Still, on coming out into the yard, he managed to
+exclaim:
+
+"The carriage of the Count of Bengal!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V KISS-AND SAY NOTHING
+
+
+The verdict concerning the five terrorists was pronounced finally
+and confirmed upon the same day. The condemned were not told when the
+execution would take place, but they knew from the usual procedure that
+they would be hanged the same night, or, at the very latest, upon the
+following night. And when it was proposed to them that they meet their
+relatives upon the following Thursday they understood that the execution
+would take place on Friday at dawn.
+
+Tanya Kovalchuk had no near relatives, and those whom she had were
+somewhere in the wilderness in Little Russia, and it was not likely
+that they even knew of the trial or of the coming execution. Musya and
+Werner, as unidentified people, were not supposed to have relatives,
+and only two, Sergey Golovin and Vasily Kashirin, were to meet their
+parents. Both of them looked upon that meeting with terror and anguish,
+yet they dared not refuse the old people the last word, the last kiss.
+
+Sergey Golovin was particularly tortured by the thought of the coming
+meeting. He dearly loved his father and mother; he had seen them but a
+short while before, and now he was in a state of terror as to what
+would happen when they came to see him. The execution itself, in all its
+monstrous horror, in its brain-stunning madness, he could imagine more
+easily, and it seemed less terrible than these other few moments of
+meeting, brief and unsatisfactory, which seemed to reach beyond time,
+beyond life itself. How to look, what to think, what to say, his mind
+could not determine. The most simple and ordinary act, to take his
+father by the hand, to kiss him, and to say, "How do you do, father?"
+seemed to him unspeakably horrible in its monstrous, inhuman, absurd
+deceitfulness.
+
+After the sentence the condemned were not placed together in one cell,
+as Tanya Kovalchuk had supposed they would be, but each was put in
+solitary confinement, and all the morning, until eleven o'clock, when
+his parents came, Sergey Golovin paced his cell furiously, tugged at his
+beard, frowned pitiably and muttered inaudibly. Sometimes he would stop
+abruptly, would breathe deeply and then exhale like a man who has been
+too long under water. But he was so healthy, his young life was so
+strong within him, that even in the moments of most painful suffering
+his blood played under his skin, reddening his cheeks, and his blue eyes
+shone brightly and frankly.
+
+But everything was far different from what he had anticipated.
+
+Nikolay Sergeyevich Golovin, Sergey's father, a retired colonel, was
+the first to enter the room where the meeting took place. He was all
+white--his face, his beard, his hair, and his hands--as if he were a snow
+statue attired in man's clothes. He had on the same old but well-cleaned
+coat, smelling of benzine, with new shoulder-straps crosswise, that he
+had always worn, and he entered firmly, with an air of stateliness, with
+strong and steady steps. He stretched out his white, thin hand and said
+loudly:
+
+"How do you do, Sergey?"
+
+Behind him Sergey's mother entered with short steps, smiling strangely.
+But she also pressed his hands and repeated loudly:
+
+"How do you do, Seryozhenka?"
+
+She kissed him on the lips and sat down silently. She did not rush over
+to him; she did not burst into tears; she did not break into a sob; she
+did not do any of the terrible things which Sergey had feared. She just
+kissed him and silently sat down. And with her trembling hands she even
+adjusted her black silk dress.
+
+Sergey did not know that the colonel, having locked himself all the
+previous night in his little study, had deliberated upon this ritual
+with all his power. "We must not aggravate, but ease the last moments
+of our son," resolved the colonel firmly, and he carefully weighed every
+possible phase of the conversation, every act and movement that might
+take place on the following day. But somehow he became confused,
+forgetting what he had prepared, and he wept bitterly in the corner of
+the oilcloth-covered couch. In the morning he explained to his wife how
+she should behave at the meeting.
+
+"The main thing is, kiss--and say nothing!" he taught her. "Later you may
+speak--after a while--but when you kiss him, be silent. Don't speak right
+after the kiss, do you understand? Or you will say what you should not
+say."
+
+"I understand, Nikolay Sergeyevich," answered the mother, weeping.
+
+"And you must not weep. For God's sake, do not weep! You will kill him
+if you weep, old woman!"
+
+"Why do you weep?"
+
+"With women one cannot help weeping. But you must not weep, do you
+hear?"
+
+"Very well, Nikolay Sergeyevich."
+
+Riding in the drozhky, he had intended to school her in the instructions
+again, but he forgot. And so they rode in silence, bent, both gray and
+old, and they were lost in thought, while the city was gay and noisy. It
+was Shrovetide, and the streets were crowded.
+
+They sat down. Then the colonel stood up, assumed a studied pose,
+placing his right hand upon the border of his coat. Sergey sat for an
+instant, looked closely upon the wrinkled face of his mother and then
+jumped up.
+
+"Be seated, Seryozhenka," begged the mother.
+
+"Sit down, Sergey," repeated the father.
+
+They became silent. The mother smiled.
+
+"How we have petitioned for you, Seryozhenka! Father--"
+
+"You should not have done that, mother----"
+
+The colonel spoke firmly:
+
+"We had to do it, Sergey, so that you should not think your parents had
+forsaken you."
+
+They became silent again. It was terrible for them to utter even a word,
+as though each word in the language had lost its individual meaning and
+meant but one thing--Death. Sergey looked at his father's coat, which
+smelt of benzine, and thought: "They have no servant now, consequently
+he must have cleaned it himself. How is it that I never before noticed
+when he cleaned his coat? I suppose he does it in the morning." Suddenly
+he asked:
+
+"And how is sister? Is she well?" "Ninochka does not know anything," the
+mother answered hastily.
+
+The colonel interrupted her sternly: "Why should you tell a falsehood?
+The child read it in the newspapers. Let Sergey know that everybody--that
+those who are dearest to him--were thinking of him--at this time--and--"
+
+He could not say any more and stopped. Suddenly the mother's face
+contracted, then it spread out, became agitated, wet and wild-looking.
+Her discolored eyes stared blindly, and her breathing became more
+frequent, and briefer, louder.
+
+"Se--Se--Se-Ser--" she repeated without moving her lips. "Ser--"
+
+"Dear mother!"
+
+The colonel strode forward, and all quivering in every fold of his coat,
+in every wrinkle of his face, not understanding how terrible he himself
+looked in his death-like whiteness, in his heroic, desperate firmness.
+He said to his wife:
+
+"Be silent! Don't torture him! Don't torture him! He has to die! Don't
+torture him!"
+
+Frightened, she had already become silent, but he still shook his
+clenched fists before him and repeated:
+
+"Don't torture him!"
+
+Then he stepped back, placed his trembling hands behind his back, and
+loudly, with an expression of forced calm, asked with pale lips:
+
+"When?"
+
+"To-morrow morning," answered Sergey, his lips also pale.
+
+The mother looked at the ground, chewing her lips, as if she did not
+hear anything. And continuing to chew, she uttered these simple words,
+strangely, as though they dropped like lead:
+
+"Ninochka told me to kiss you, Seryozhenka."
+
+"Kiss her for me," said Sergey.
+
+"Very well. The Khvostovs send you their regards."
+
+"Which Khvostovs? Oh, yes!"
+
+The colonel interrupted:
+
+"Well, we must go. Get up, mother; we must go." The two men lifted the
+weakened old woman.
+
+"Bid him good-by!" ordered the colonel. "Make the sign of the cross."
+
+She did everything as she was told. But as she made the sign of the
+cross, and kissed her son a brief kiss, she shook her head and murmured
+weakly:
+
+"No, it isn't the right way! It is not the right way! What will I say?
+How will I say it? No, it is not the right way!"
+
+"Good-by, Sergey!" said the father. They shook hands, and kissed each
+other quickly but heartily.
+
+"You--" began Sergey.
+
+"Well?" asked the father abruptly.
+
+"No, no! It is not the right way! How shall I say it?" repeated the
+mother weakly, nodding her head. She had sat down again and was rocking
+herself back and forth.
+
+"You--" Sergey began again. Suddenly his face wrinkled pitiably,
+childishly, and his eyes filled with tears immediately. Through the
+sparkling gleams of his tears he looked closely into the white face of
+his father, whose eyes had also filled.
+
+"You, father, are a noble man!"
+
+"What is that? What are you saying?" said the colonel, surprised. And
+then suddenly, as if broken in two, he fell with his head upon his son's
+shoulder. He had been taller than Sergey, but now he became short, and
+his dry, downy head lay like a white ball upon his son's shoulder. And
+they kissed silently and passionately: Sergey kissed the silvery white
+hair, and the old man kissed the prisoner's garb.
+
+"And I?" suddenly said a loud voice.
+
+They looked around. Sergey's mother was standing, her head thrown back,
+looking at them angrily, almost with contempt.
+
+"What is it, mother?" cried the colonel.
+
+"And I?" she said, shaking her head with insane intensity. "You kiss--and
+I? You men! Yes? And I? And I?"
+
+"Mother!" Sergey rushed over to her.
+
+What took place then it is unnecessary and impossible to describe... .
+
+The last words of the colonel were:
+
+"I give you my blessing for your death, Seryozha. Die bravely, like an
+officer."
+
+And they went away. Somehow they went away. They had been there, they
+had stood, they had spoken--and suddenly they had gone. Here sat his
+mother, there stood his father--and suddenly somehow they had gone away.
+Returning to the cell, Sergey lay down on the cot, his face turned
+toward the wall, in order to hide it from the soldiers, and he wept for
+a long time. Then, exhausted by his tears, he slept soundly.
+
+To Vasily Kashirin only his mother came. His father, who was a wealthy
+tradesman, did not want to come. Vasily met the old woman, as he was
+pacing up and down the room, trembling with cold, although it was warm,
+even hot. And the conversation was brief, painful.
+
+"It wasn't worth coming, mother. You'll only torture yourself and me."
+
+"Why did you do it, Vasya? Why did you do it? Oh, Lord!" The old woman
+burst out weeping, wiping her face with the ends of her black, woolen
+kerchief. And with the habit which he and his brothers had always had
+of crying at their mother, who did not understand anything, he stopped,
+and, shuddering as with cold, spoke angrily:
+
+"There! You see! I knew it! You understand nothing, mother! Nothing!"
+
+"Well--well--all right! Do you feel--cold?"
+
+"Cold!" Vasily answered bluntly, and again began to pace the room,
+looking at his mother askance, as if annoyed.
+
+"Perhaps you have caught cold?"
+
+"Oh, mother what is a cold, when--" and he waved his hand helplessly.
+
+The old woman was about to say: "And your father ordered wheat cakes
+beginning with Monday," but she was frightened, and said:
+
+"I told him: 'It is your son, you should go, give him your blessing.'
+No, the old beast persisted--"
+
+"Let him go to the devil! What sort of father has he been to me? He has
+been a scoundrel all his life, and remains a scoundrel!"
+
+"Vasenka! Do you speak of your father like this?" said the old woman
+reproachfully, straightening herself.
+
+"About my father!"
+
+"About your own father?"
+
+"He is no father to me!"
+
+It was strange and absurd. Before him was the thought of death, while
+here something small, empty and trivial arose, and his words
+cracked like the shells of nuts under foot. And almost crying with
+sorrow--because of the eternal misunderstanding which all his life long
+had stood like a wall between him and those nearest to him, and which
+even now, in the last hour before death, peered at him stupidly and
+strangely through small, widely opened eyes--Vasily exclaimed:
+
+"Don't you understand that I am to be hanged soon? Hanged! Do you
+understand it? Hanged!"
+
+"You shouldn't have harmed anybody and nobody would--" cried the old
+woman.
+
+"My God! What is this? Even beasts do not act like this! Am I not your
+son?"
+
+He began to cry, and seated himself in a corner. The old woman also
+burst out crying in her corner. Powerless, even for an instant, to blend
+in a feeling of love and to offset by it the horror of impending death,
+they wept their cold tears of loneliness which did not warm their
+hearts. The mother said:
+
+"You ask whether I am a mother to you? You reproach me! And I have grown
+completely gray during these days. I have become an old woman. And yet
+you say--you reproach me!"
+
+"Well, mother, it is all right. Forgive me. It is time for you to go.
+Kiss my brothers for me."
+
+"Am I not your mother? Do I not feel sorry?"
+
+At last she went away. She wept bitterly, wiping her face with the edges
+of her kerchief, and she did not see the road. And the farther she got
+from the prison the more bitterly she wept. She retraced her steps to
+the prison, and then she strangely lost her way in the city in which she
+had been born, in which she lived to her old age. She strolled into a
+deserted little garden with a few old, gnarled trees, and she seated
+herself upon a wet bench, from which the snow had melted.
+
+And suddenly she understood. He was to be hanged upon the morrow!
+
+The old woman jumped up, about to run, but suddenly her head began
+to swim terribly and she fell to the ground. The icy path was wet and
+slippery, and she could not rise. She turned about, lifted herself on
+her elbows and knelt, then fell back on her side. The black kerchief
+had slipped down, baring upon the back of her head a bald spot amid her
+muddy-gray hair; and then somehow it seemed to her that she was feasting
+at a wedding, that her son was getting married, and she had been
+drinking wine and had become intoxicated.
+
+"I can't! My God! I can't!" she cried, as though declining something.
+Swaying her head, she crawled over the wet, frozen crust, and all the
+time it seemed to her that they were pouring out more wine for her, more
+wine!
+
+And her heart had already begun to pain her from her intoxicated
+laughter, from the rejoicing, from the wild dancing--and they kept on
+pouring more wine for her--pouring more wine!
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI THE HOURS ARE RUSHING
+
+
+On the fortress where the condemned terrorists were imprisoned there was
+a steeple with an old-fashioned clock upon it. At every hour, at every
+half-hour, and at every quarter-hour the clock rang out in long-drawn,
+mournful chimes, slowly melting high in the air, like the distant and
+plaintive call of migrating birds. In the daytime, this strange and sad
+music was lost in the noise of the city, of the wide and crowded street
+which passed near the fortress. The cars buzzed along, the hoofs of the
+horses beat upon the pavements, the rocking automobiles honked in the
+distance, peasant izvozchiks had come especially from the outskirts of
+the city for the Shrovetide season and the tinkling of the bells
+upon the necks of their little horses filled the air. The prattle
+of voices--an intoxicated, merry Shrovetide prattle of voices arose
+everywhere. And in the midst of these various noises there was the young
+thawing spring, the muddy pools on the meadows, the trees of the squares
+which had suddenly become black. From the sea a warm breeze was blowing
+in broad, moist gusts. It was almost as if one could have seen the
+tiny fresh particles of air carried away, merged into the free, endless
+expanse of the atmosphere--could have heard them laughing in their
+flight.
+
+At night the street grew quiet in the lonely light of the large,
+electric sun. And then, the enormous fortress, within whose walls there
+was not a single light, passed into darkness and silence, separating
+itself from the ever living, stirring city by a wall of silence,
+motionlessness and darkness. Then it was that the strokes of the clock
+became audible. A strange melody, foreign to earth, was slowly and
+mournfully born and died out up in the heights. It was born again;
+deceiving the ear, it rang plaintively and softly--it broke off--and
+rang again. Like large, transparent, glassy drops, hours and minutes
+descended from an unknown height into a metallic, softly resounding
+bell.
+
+This was the only sound that reached the cells, by day and night,
+where the condemned remained in solitary confinement. Through the roof,
+through the thickness of the stone walls, it penetrated, stirring the
+silence--it passed unnoticed, to return again, also unnoticed. Sometimes
+they awaited it in despair, living from one sound to the next, trusting
+the silence no longer. Only important criminals were sent to this
+prison. There were special rules there, stern, grim and severe, like the
+corner of the fortress wall, and if there be nobility in cruelty, then
+the dull, dead, solemnly mute silence, which caught the slightest rustle
+and breathing, was noble.
+
+And in this solemn silence, broken by the mournful tolling of the
+departing minutes, separated from all that lives, five human beings,
+two women and three men, waited for the advent of night, of dawn and the
+execution, and all of them prepared for it, each in his or her own way.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII THERE IS NO DEATH
+
+
+Just as Tanya Kovalchuk had thought all her life only of others and
+never of herself, so now she suffered and grieved painfully, but
+only for her comrades. She pictured death, only as awaiting them, as
+something tormenting only to Sergey Golovin, to Musya, to the others--as
+for herself, it did not concern her.
+
+As a recompense for her firmness and restraint in the courtroom she wept
+for long hours, as old women who have experienced great misery, or as
+very sympathetic and kind-hearted young people know how to weep. And
+the fear that perhaps Seryozha was without tobacco or Werner without the
+strong tea to which he was accustomed, in addition to the fact that
+they were to die, caused her no less pain than the idea of the execution
+itself. Death was something inevitable and even unimportant, of which
+it was not worth while to think; but for a man in prison, before his
+execution, to be left without tobacco--that was altogether unbearable.
+She recalled and went over in her mind all the pleasant details of their
+life together, and then she grew faint with fear when she pictured to
+herself the meeting between Sergey and his parents.
+
+She felt particularly sorry for Musya. It had long seemed to her that
+Musya loved Werner, and although this was not a fact, she still dreamed
+of something good and bright for both of them. When she had been free,
+Musya had worn a silver ring, on which was the design of a skull, bones,
+and a crown of thorns about them. Tanya Kovalchuk had often looked upon
+the ring as a symbol of doom, and she would ask Musya, now in jest, now
+in earnest, to remove the ring.
+
+"Make me a present of it," she had begged.
+
+"No, Tanechka, I will not give it to you. But perhaps you will soon have
+another ring upon your finger."
+
+For some reason or other they all in turn had thought that she would
+doubtless soon marry, and this had offended her--she wanted no husband.
+And recalling these half-jesting conversations with Musya, and the fact
+that now Musya was actually condemned to death, she choked with tears
+in her maternal pity. And each time the clock struck she raised
+her tear-stained face and listened--how were they in the other cells
+receiving this drawn-out, persistent call of death?
+
+But Musya was happy.
+
+With her hands folded behind her back, dressed in a prisoner's garb
+which was much too large for her, and which made her look very much like
+a man--like a stripling dressed in some one else's clothes--she paced her
+cell evenly and tirelessly. The sleeves of the coat were too long for
+her, and she turned them up, and her thin, almost childish, emaciated
+hands peeped out of the wide holes like a beautiful flower out of a
+coarse earthen jug. The rough material of the coat rubbed her thin white
+neck, and sometimes Musya would free her throat with both hands and
+would cautiously feel the spot where the irritated skin was red and
+smarted.
+
+Musya paced the cell, and, blushing in agitation, she imagined that she
+was justifying herself before the people. She tried to justify herself
+for the fact that she, who was so young, so insignificant, who had done
+so little, and who was not at all a heroine, was yet to undergo the same
+honorable and beautiful death by which real heroes and martyrs had
+died before her. With unshakable faith in human kindness, in their
+compassion, in their love, she pictured to herself how people were now
+agitated on her account, how they suffered, how they pitied her, and she
+felt so ashamed that she blushed, as if, by dying upon the scaffold, she
+had committed some tremendous, awkward blunder.
+
+At the last meeting with their counsel she had asked him to bring
+her poison, but suddenly she had changed her mind. What if he and the
+others, she thought, should consider that she was doing it merely to
+become conspicuous, or out of cowardice, that instead of dying modestly
+and unnoticed, she was attempting to glorify herself. And she added
+hastily:
+
+"No, it isn't necessary."
+
+And now she desired but one thing--to be able to explain to people, to
+prove to them so that they should have not the slightest doubt that she
+was not at all a heroine, that it was not terrible to die, that they
+should not feel sorry for her, nor trouble themselves about her. She
+wished to be able to explain to them that she was not at all to blame
+that she, who was so young and so insignificant, was to undergo such a
+martyr's death, and that so much trouble should be made on her account.
+
+Like a person who is actually accused of a crime, Musya sought
+justification. She endeavored to find something that would at least
+make her sacrifice more momentous, which might give it real value. She
+reasoned:
+
+"Of course, I am young and could have lived for a long time. But--"
+
+And as a candle darkens in the glare of the rising sun, so her youth
+and her life seemed dull and dark compared to that great and resplendent
+radiance which would shine above her simple head. There was no
+justification.
+
+But perhaps that peculiar something which she bore in her soul--boundless
+love, boundless eagerness to do great deeds, her boundless contempt for
+herself--was a justification in itself. She felt that she was really
+not to blame that she was hindered from doing the things she could have
+done, which she had wished to do--that she had been smitten upon the
+threshold of the temple, at the foot of the altar.
+
+But if that were so, if a person is appreciated not only for what he has
+done, but also for what he had intended to do--then--then she was worthy
+of the crown of the martyr!
+
+"Is it possible?" thought Musya bashfully. "Is it possible that I am
+worthy of it? That I deserve that people should weep for me, should be
+agitated over my fate, over such a little and insignificant girl?"
+
+And she was seized with sudden joy. There were no doubts, no
+hesitations--she was received into their midst--she entered justified the
+ranks of those noble people who always ascend to heaven through fires,
+tortures and executions. Bright peace and tranquillity and endless,
+calmly radiant happiness! It was as if she had already departed from
+earth and was nearing the unknown sun of truth and life, and was
+in-corporeally soaring in its light.
+
+"And that is--Death? That is not Death!" thought Musya blissfully.
+
+And if scientists, philosophers and hangmen from the world over should
+come to her cell, spreading before her books, scalpels, axes and nooses,
+and were to attempt to prove to her that Death existed, that a human
+being dies and is killed, that there is no immortality, they would only
+surprise her. How could there be no deathlessness, since she was already
+deathless? Of what other deathlessness, of what other death, could there
+be a question, since she was already dead and immortal, alive in death,
+as she had been dead in life?
+
+And if a coffin were brought into her cell with her own decomposing body
+in it, and she were told:
+
+"Look! That is you!"
+
+She would look and would answer:
+
+"No, it is not I."
+
+And if they should attempt to convince her, frightening her by the
+ominous sight of her own decomposed body, that it was she--she, Musya,
+would answer with a smile:
+
+"No. You think that it is I, but it isn't. I am the one you are speaking
+to; how can I be the other one?"
+
+"But you will die and become like that."
+
+"No, I will not die."
+
+"You will be executed. Here is the noose."
+
+"I will be executed, but I will not die. How can I die, when I am
+already--now--immortal?"
+
+And the scientists and philosophers and hangmen would retreat,
+speaking--with a shudder:
+
+"Do not touch this place. It is holy." What else was Musya thinking
+about? She was thinking of many things, for to her the thread of life
+was not broken by Death, but kept winding along calmly and evenly. She
+thought of her comrades, of those who were far away, and who in pain
+and sorrow were living through the execution together with them, and of
+those near by who were to mount the scaffold with her. She was surprised
+at Vasily--that he should have been so disturbed--he, who had always been
+so brave, and who had jested with Death. Thus, only on Tuesday morning,
+when all together they had attached explosive projectiles to their
+belts, which several hours later were to tear them into pieces, Tanya
+Kovalchuk's hands had trembled with nervousness, and it had become
+necessary to put her aside, while Vasily jested, made merry, turned
+about, and was even so reckless that Werner had said sternly:
+
+"You must not be too familiar with Death."
+
+What was he afraid of now? But this incomprehensible fear was so foreign
+to Musya's soul that she ceased searching for the cause of it--and
+suddenly she was seized with a desperate desire to see Seryozha Golovin,
+to laugh with him. She meditated a little while, and then an even more
+desperate desire came over her to see Werner and to convince him of
+something. And imagining to herself that Werner was in the next cell,
+driving his heels into the ground with his distinct, measured steps,
+Musya spoke, as if addressing him:
+
+"No, Werner, my dear; it is all nonsense; it isn't at all important
+whether or not you are killed. You are a sensible man, but you seem to
+be playing chess, and that by taking one figure after another the game
+is won. The important thing, Werner, is that we ourselves are ready
+to die. Do you understand? What do those people think? That there is
+nothing more terrible than death. They themselves have invented Death,
+they are themselves afraid of it, and they try to frighten us with it.
+I should like to do this--I should like to go out alone before a whole
+regiment of soldiers and fire upon them with a revolver. It would not
+matter that I would be alone, while they would be thousands, or that I
+might not kill any of them. It is that which is important--that they are
+thousands. When thousands kill one, it means that the one has conquered.
+That is true, Werner, my dear...."
+
+But this, too, became so clear to her that she did not feel like arguing
+further--Werner must understand it himself. Perhaps her mind simply did
+not want to stop at one thought--just as a bird that soars with ease,
+which sees endless horizons, and to which all space, all the depth, all
+the joy of the soft and caressing azure are accessible. The bell of
+the clock rang unceasingly, disturbing the deep silence. And into this
+harmonious, remote, beautiful sound the thoughts of the people flowed,
+and also began to ring for her; and the smoothly gliding images turned
+into music. It was just as if, on a quiet, dark night, Musya was riding
+along a broad, even road, while the easy springs of the carriage rocked
+her and the little bells tinkled. All alarm and agitation had passed,
+the fatigued body had dissolved in the darkness, and her joyously
+wearied fancy calmly created bright images, carried away by their color
+and their peaceful tranquillity. Musya recalled three of her comrades
+who had been hanged but a short time before, and their faces seemed
+bright and happy and near to her--nearer than those in life. Thus does a
+man think with joy in the morning of the house of his friends where he
+is to go in the evening, and a greeting rises to his smiling lips.
+
+Musya became very tired from walking. She lay down cautiously on the cot
+and continued to dream with slightly closed eyes. The clock-bell rang
+unceasingly, stirring the mute silence, and bright, singing images
+floated calmly before her. Musya thought:
+
+"Is it possible that this is Death? My God! How beautiful it is! Or is
+it Life? I do not know. I do not know. I will look and listen."
+
+Her hearing had long given way to her imagination--from the first moment
+of her imprisonment. Inclined to be very musical, her ear had become
+keen in the silence, and on this background of silence, out of the
+meagre bits of reality, the footsteps of the guards in the corridors,
+the ringing of the clock, the rustling of the wind on the iron roof, the
+creaking of the lantern--it created complete musical pictures. At first
+Musya was afraid of them, brushed them away from her as if they were
+the hallucinations of a sickly mind. But later she understood that she
+herself was well, and that this was no derangement of any kind--and she
+gave herself up to the dreams calmly.
+
+And now, suddenly, she seemed to hear clearly and distinctly the sounds
+of military music. In astonishment, she opened her eyes, lifted her
+head--outside the window was black night, and the clock was striking.
+"Again," she thought calmly, and closed her eyes. And as soon as she did
+so the music resounded anew. She could hear distinctly how the soldiers,
+a whole regiment, were coming from behind the corner of the fortress,
+on the right, and now they were passing her window. Their feet beat time
+with measured steps upon the frozen ground: One--two! One--two! She could
+even hear at times the leather of the boots creaking, how suddenly some
+one's foot slipped and immediately recovered its steps. And the music
+came ever nearer--it was an entirely unfamiliar but a very loud and
+spirited holiday march. Evidently there was some sort of celebration in
+the fortress.
+
+Now the band came up alongside of her window and the cell was filled
+with merry, rhythmic, harmoniously blended sounds. One large brass
+trumpet brayed harshly out of tune, now too late, now comically running
+ahead--Musya could almost see the little soldier playing it, a great
+expression of earnestness on his face--and she laughed.
+
+Then everything moved away. The footsteps died out--One--two! One--two!
+At a distance the music sounded still more beautiful and cheerful. The
+trumpet resounded now and then with its merry, loud brass voice, out of
+tune,--and then everything died away. And the clock on the tower struck
+again, slowly, mournfully, hardly stirring the silence.
+
+"They are gone!" thought Musya, with a feeling of slight sadness. She
+felt sorry for the departing sounds, which had been so cheerful and so
+comical. She was even sorry for the departed little soldiers, because
+those busy soldiers, with their brass trumpets and their creaking boots,
+were of an entirely different sort, not at all like those at whom she
+had felt like firing a revolver.
+
+"Come again!" she begged tenderly. And more came. The figures bent over
+her, they surrounded her in a transparent cloud and lifted her up, where
+the migrating birds were soaring and screaming, like heralds. On the
+right of her, on the left, above and below her--they screamed like
+heralds. They called, they announced from afar their flight. They
+flapped their wide wings and the darkness supported them, even as the
+light had supported them. And on their convex breasts, cleaving the air
+asunder, the city far below reflected a blue light. Musya's heart beat
+ever more evenly, her breathing grew ever more calm and quiet. She was
+falling asleep. Her face looked fatigued and pale. Beneath her eyes were
+dark circles, her girlish, emaciated hands seemed so thin,--but upon her
+lips was a smile. To-morrow, with the rise of the sun, this human face
+would be distorted with an inhuman grimace, her brain would be covered
+with thick blood, and her eyes would bulge from their sockets and look
+glassy,--but now she slept quietly and smiled in her great immortality.
+
+Musya fell asleep.
+
+And the life of the prison went on, deaf and sensitive, blind and
+sharp-sighted, like eternal alarm itself. Somewhere people were walking.
+Somewhere people were whispering. A gun clanked. It seemed as if some
+one shouted. Perhaps no one shouted at all--perhaps it merely seemed so
+in the silence.
+
+The little casement window in the door opened noiselessly. A dark,
+mustached face appeared in the black hole. For a long time it stared
+at Musya in astonishment--and then disappeared as noiselessly as it had
+appeared.
+
+The bells rang and sang, for a long time, painfully. It seemed as if the
+tired Hours were climbing up a high mountain toward midnight, and that
+it was becoming ever harder and harder to ascend. They fall, they slip,
+they slide down with a groan--and then again, they climb painfully toward
+the black height.
+
+Somewhere people were walking. Somewhere people were whispering. And
+they were already harnessing the horses to the black carriages without
+lanterns.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII THERE IS DEATH AS WELL AS LIFE
+
+
+Sergey Golovin never thought of death, as though it were something not
+to be considered, something that did not concern him in the least. He
+was a strong, healthy, cheerful youth, endowed with that calm, clear joy
+of living which causes every evil thought and feeling that might injure
+life to disappear from the organism without leaving any trace. Just
+as all cuts, wounds and stings on his body healed rapidly, so all that
+weighed upon his soul and wounded it immediately rose to the surface and
+disappeared. And he brought into every work, even into his enjoyments,
+the same calm and optimistic seriousness,--it mattered not whether he
+was occupied with photography, with bicycling or with preparations for
+a terroristic act. Everything in life was joyous, everything in life was
+important, everything should be done well.
+
+And he did everything well: he was an excellent sailor, an expert shot
+with the revolver. He was as faithful in friendship as in love, and a
+fanatic believer in the "word of honor." His comrades laughed at him,
+saying that if the most notorious spy told him upon his word of honor
+that he was not a spy, Sergey would believe him and would shake hands
+with him as with any comrade. He had one fault,--he was convinced that he
+could sing well, whereas in fact he had no ear for music and even sang
+the revolutionary songs out of tune, and felt offended when his friends
+laughed at him.
+
+"Either you are all asses, or I am an ass," he would declare seriously
+and even angrily. And all his friends as seriously declared: "You are an
+ass. We can tell by your voice."
+
+But, as is sometimes the case with good people, he was perhaps liked
+more for this little foible than for his good qualities.
+
+He feared death so little and thought of it so little that on the fatal
+morning, before leaving the house of Tanya Kovalchuk, he was the only
+one who had breakfasted properly, with an appetite. He drank two glasses
+of tea with milk, and a whole five-copeck roll of bread. Then he glanced
+at Werner's untouched bread and said:
+
+"Why don't you eat? Eat. We must brace up."
+
+"I don't feel like eating."
+
+"Then I'll eat it. May I?"
+
+"You have a fine appetite, Seryozha."
+
+Instead of answering, Sergey, his mouth full, began to sing in a dull
+voice, out of tune:
+
+"Hostile whirlwinds are blowing over us..."
+
+After the arrest he at first grew sad; the work had not been done well,
+they had failed; but then he thought: "There is something else now that
+must be done well--and that is, to die," and he cheered up again. And
+however strange it may seem, beginning with the second morning in the
+fortress, he commenced devoting himself to gymnastics according to
+the unusually rational system of a certain German named Mueller, which
+absorbed his interest. He undressed himself completely and, to the alarm
+and astonishment of the guard who watched him, he carefully went through
+all the prescribed eighteen exercises. The fact that the guard watched
+him and was apparently astonished, pleased him as a propagandist of
+the Mueller system; and although he knew that he would get no answer he
+nevertheless spoke to the eye staring in the little window:
+
+"It's a good system, my friend, it braces you up. It should be
+introduced in your regiment," he shouted convincingly and kindly, so as
+not to frighten the soldier, not suspecting that the guard considered
+him a harmless lunatic.
+
+The fear of death came over him gradually. It was as if somebody were
+striking his heart a powerful blow with the fist from below. This
+sensation was rather painful than terrible. Then the sensation was
+forgotten, but it returned again a few hours later, and each time it
+grew more intense and of longer duration, and thus it began to assume
+vague outlines of some great, even unbearable fear.
+
+"Is it possible that I am afraid?" thought Sergey in astonishment. "What
+nonsense!"
+
+It was not he who was afraid,--it was his young, sound, strong body,
+which could not be deceived either by the exercises prescribed by the
+Mueller system, or by the cold rub-downs. On the contrary, the stronger
+and the fresher his body became after the cold water, the keener and the
+more unbearable became the sensations of his recurrent fear. And just at
+those moments when, during his freedom, he had felt a special influx of
+the joy and power of life,--in the mornings after he had slept soundly
+and gone through his physical exercises,--now there appeared this
+deadening fear which was so foreign to his nature. He noticed this and
+thought:
+
+"It is foolish, Sergey! To die more easily, you should weaken the body
+and not strengthen it. It is foolish!"
+
+So he dropped his gymnastics and the rub-downs. To the soldier he
+shouted, as if to explain and justify himself:
+
+"Never mind that I have stopped. It's a good thing, my friend,--but not
+for those who are to be hanged. But it's very good for all others."
+
+And, indeed, he began to feel somewhat better. He tried also to eat
+less, so as to grow still weaker, but notwithstanding the lack of pure
+air and exercises, his appetite was very good,--it was difficult for him
+to control it, and he ate everything that was brought to him. Then he
+began to manage differently--before starting to eat he would pour out
+half into the pail, and this seemed to work. A dull drowsiness and
+faintness came over him.
+
+"I'll show you what I can do!" he threatened his body, and at the same
+time sadly, yet tenderly he felt his flabby, softened muscles with his
+hand.
+
+Soon, however, his body grew accustomed to this regime as well, and
+the fear of death appeared again--not so keen, nor so burning, but more
+disgusting, somewhat akin to a nauseating sensation. "It's because they
+are dragging it out so long," thought Sergey. "It would be a good idea
+to sleep all the time till the day of the execution," and he tried to
+sleep as much as possible. At first he succeeded, but later, either
+because he had slept too much, or for some other reason, insomnia
+appeared. And with it came eager, penetrating thoughts and a longing for
+life.
+
+"I am not afraid of this devil!" he thought of Death. "I simply feel
+sorry for my life. It is a splendid thing, no matter what the pessimists
+say about it. What if they were to hang a pessimist? Ah, I feel sorry
+for life, very sorry! And why does my beard grow now? It didn't grow
+before, but suddenly it grows--why?"
+
+He shook his head mournfully, heaving long, painful sighs. Silence--then
+a sigh; then a brief silence again--followed by a longer, deeper sigh.
+
+Thus it went on until the trial and the terrible meeting with his
+parents. When he awoke in his cell the next day he realized clearly that
+everything between him and life was ended, that there were only a
+few empty hours of waiting and then death would come,--and a strange
+sensation took possession of him. He felt as though he had been
+stripped, stripped entirely,--as if not only his clothes, but the sun,
+the air, the noise of voices and his ability to do things had been
+wrested from him. Death was not there as yet, but life was there no
+longer,--there was something new, something astonishing,
+inexplicable, not entirely reasonable and yet not altogether without
+meaning,--something so deep and mysterious and supernatural that it was
+impossible to understand.
+
+"Fie, you devil!" wondered Sergey, painfully. "What is this? Where am I?
+I--who am I?"
+
+He examined himself attentively, with interest, beginning with his large
+prison slippers, ending with his stomach where his coat protruded. He
+paced the cell, spreading out his arms and continuing to survey himself
+like a woman in a new dress which is too long for her. He tried to turn
+his head, and it turned. And this strange, terrible, uncouth creature
+was he, Sergey Golovin, and soon he would be no more!
+
+Everything became strange.
+
+He tried to walk across the cell--and it seemed strange to him that he
+could walk. He tried to sit down--and it seemed strange to him that he
+could sit. He tried to drink some water--and it seemed strange to him
+that he could drink, that he could swallow, that he could hold the cup,
+that he had fingers and that those fingers were trembling. He choked,
+began to cough and while coughing, thought: "How strange it is that I am
+coughing."
+
+"Am I losing my reason?" thought Sergey, growing cold. "Am I coming to
+that, too? The devil take them!"
+
+He rubbed his forehead with his hand, and this also seemed strange to
+him. And then he remained breathless, motionless, petrified for hours,
+suppressing every thought, all loud breathing, all motion,--for every
+thought seemed to him but madness, every motion--madness. Time was no
+more; it appeared transformed into space, airless and transparent, into
+an enormous square upon which all were there--the earth and life and
+people. He saw all that at one glance, all to the very end, to the
+mysterious abyss--Death. And he was tortured not by the fact that Death
+was visible, but that both Life and Death were visible at the same time.
+The curtain which through eternity has hidden the mystery of life and
+the mystery of death was pushed aside by a sacrilegious hand, and the
+mysteries ceased to be mysteries--yet they remained incomprehensible,
+like the Truth written in a foreign tongue. There were no conceptions in
+his human mind, no words in his human language that could define what he
+saw. And the words "I am afraid" were uttered by him only because there
+were no other words, because no other conceptions existed, nor could
+other conceptions exist which would grasp this new, un-human condition.
+Thus would it be with a man if, while remaining within the bounds of
+human reason, experience and feelings, he were suddenly to see God
+Himself. He would see Him but would not understand, even though he knew
+that it was God, and he would tremble with inconceivable sufferings of
+incomprehension.
+
+"There is Mueller for you!" he suddenly uttered loudly, with extreme
+conviction, and shook his head. And with that unexpected break in his
+feelings, of which the human soul is so capable, he laughed heartily and
+cheerfully.
+
+"Oh, Mueller! My dear Mueller! Oh, you splendid German! After all you
+are right, Mueller, and I am an ass!"
+
+He paced the cell quickly several times and to the great astonishment
+of the soldier who was watching him through the peephole, he quickly
+undressed himself and cheerfully went through all the eighteen exercises
+with the greatest care. He stretched and expanded his young, somewhat
+emaciated body, sat down for a moment, drew deep breaths of air and
+exhaled it, stood up on tip-toe, stretched his arms and his feet. And
+after each exercise he announced, with satisfaction:
+
+"That's it! That's the real way, Mueller!" His cheeks flushed; drops
+of warm, pleasant perspiration came from the pores of his body, and his
+heart beat soundly and evenly.
+
+"The fact is, Mueller," philosophized Sergey, expanding his chest so
+that the ribs under his thin, tight skin were outlined clearly,--"the
+fact is, that there is a nineteenth exercise--to hang by the neck
+motionless. That is called execution. Do you understand, Mueller? They
+take a live man, let us say Sergey Golovin, they swaddle him as a
+doll and they hang him by the neck until he is dead. It is a foolish
+exercise, Mueller, but it can't be helped,--we have to do it."
+
+He bent over on the right side and repeated:
+
+"We have to do it, Mueller."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX DREADFUL SOLITUDE
+
+
+Under the same ringing of the clock, separated from Sergey and Musya by
+only a few empty cells, but yet so painfully desolate and alone in the
+whole world as though no other soul existed, poor Vasily Kashirin was
+passing the last hours of his life in terror and in anguish.
+
+Perspiring, his moist shirt clinging to his body, his once curly hair
+disheveled, he tossed about in the cell convulsively and hopelessly,
+like a man suffering from an unbearable physical torture. He would sit
+down for awhile, then start to run again, he would press his forehead
+against the wall, stop and seek something with his eyes--as if looking
+for some medicine. His expression changed as though he had two different
+faces. The former, the young face, had disappeared somewhere, and a new
+one, a terrible face that had seemed to have come out of the darkness,
+had taken its place.
+
+The fear of death had come upon him all at once and taken possession of
+him completely and forcibly. In the morning, while facing almost certain
+death, he had been care-free and had scorned it, but toward evening
+when he was placed in a cell in solitary confinement, he was whirled and
+carried away by a wave of mad fear. So long as he went of his own free
+will to face danger and death, so long as he had death, even though
+it seemed terrible, in his own hands, he felt at ease. He was even
+cheerful; in the sensation of boundless freedom, of brave and firm
+conviction of his fearless will, his little, shrunken, womanish fear was
+drowned, leaving no trace. With an infernal machine at his girdle, he
+made the cruel force of dynamite his own, also its fiery death-bearing
+power. And as he walked along the street, amidst the bustling, plain
+people, who were occupied with their affairs, who were hurriedly
+avoiding the dangers from the horses of carriages and cars, he seemed to
+himself as a stranger from another, unknown world, where neither death
+nor fear was known.
+
+And suddenly this harsh, wild, stupefying change. He can no longer go
+where he pleases, but he is led where others please. He can no longer
+choose the place he likes, but he is placed in a stone cage, and locked
+up like a thing. He can no longer choose freely, like all people,
+between life and death, but he will surely and inevitably be put to
+death. The incarnation of will-power, life and strength an instant
+before, he has now become a wretched image of the most pitiful weakness
+in the world. He has been transformed into an animal waiting to be
+slaughtered, a deaf-mute object which may be taken from place to place,
+burnt and broken. It matters not what he might say, nobody would listen
+to his words, and if he endeavored to shout, they would stop his mouth
+with a rag. Whether he can walk alone or not, they will take him away
+and hang him.
+
+And if he should offer resistance, struggle or lie down on the
+ground--they will overpower him, lift him, bind him and carry him,
+bound, to the gallows. And the fact that this machine-like work will
+be performed over him by human beings like himself, lent to them a new,
+extraordinary and ominous aspect--they seemed to him like ghosts that
+came to him for this one purpose, or like automatic puppets on springs.
+They would seize him, take him, carry him, hang him, pull him by the
+feet. They would cut the rope, take him down, carry him off and bury
+him.
+
+From the first day of his imprisonment the people and life seemed to
+him to have turned into an incomprehensibly terrible world of phantoms
+and automatic puppets. Almost maddened with fear, he attempted to
+picture to himself that human beings had tongues and that they could
+speak, but he could not--they seemed to him to be mute. He tried to
+recall their speech, the meaning of the words that people used in their
+relations with one another--but he could not. Their mouths seemed
+to open, some sounds were heard; then they moved their feet and
+disappeared. And nothing more.
+
+Thus would a man feel if he were at night alone in his house and
+suddenly all objects were to come to life, start to move and overpower
+him. And suddenly they would all begin to judge him: the cupboard, the
+chair, the writing-table and the divan. He would cry and toss about,
+entreating, calling for help, while they would speak among themselves in
+their own language, and then would lead him to the scaffold,--they, the
+cupboard, the chair, the writing-table and the divan. And the other
+objects would look on.
+
+To Vasily Kashirin, who was condemned to death by hanging, everything
+now seemed like children's playthings: his cell, the door with the
+peephole, the strokes of the wound-up clock, the carefully molded
+fortress, and especially that mechanical puppet with the gun who stamped
+his feet in the corridor, and the others who, frightening him, peeped
+into his cell through the little window and handed him the food in
+silence. And that which he was experiencing was not the fear of
+death; death was now rather welcome to him. Death with all its eternal
+mysteriousness and incomprehensibility was more acceptable to his reason
+than this strangely and fantastically changed world. What is more,
+death seemed to have been destroyed completely in this insane world of
+phantoms and puppets, having lost its great and enigmatic significance,
+becoming something mechanical and only for that reason terrible. He
+would be seized, taken, led, hanged, pulled by the feet, the rope would
+be cut, he would be taken down, carried off and buried.
+
+And the man would have disappeared from the world.
+
+At the trial the nearness of his comrades brought Kashirin to himself.
+For an instant he imagined he saw real people; they were sitting
+and trying him, speaking like human beings, listening, apparently
+understanding him. But as he mentally rehearsed the meeting with his
+mother he clearly felt with the terror of a man who is beginning to lose
+his reason and who realizes it, that this old woman in the black little
+kerchief was only an artificial, mechanical puppet, of the kind that can
+say "pa-pa," "ma-ma," but somewhat better constructed. He tried to speak
+to her, while thinking at the same time with a shudder:
+
+"O Lord! That is a puppet. A mother doll. And there is a soldier-puppet,
+and there, at home, is a father-puppet, and this is the puppet of Vasily
+Kashirin."
+
+It seemed to him that in another moment he would hear somewhere the
+creaking of the mechanism, the screeching of un-oiled wheels. When his
+mother began to cry, something human again flashed for an instant, but
+at the very first words it disappeared again, and it was interesting and
+terrible to see that water was flowing from the eyes of the doll.
+
+Then, in his cell, when the terror had become unbearable, Vasily
+Kashirin attempted to pray. Of all that had surrounded his childhood
+days in his father's house under the guise of religion only a repulsive,
+bitter and irritating sediment remained; but faith there was none. But
+once, perhaps in his earliest childhood, he had heard a few words which
+had filled him with palpitating emotion and which remained during all
+his life enwrapped with tender poetry. These words were:
+
+"The joy of all the afflicted..."
+
+It had happened, during painful periods in his life, that he whispered
+to himself, not in prayer, without being definitely conscious of it,
+these words: "The joy of all the afflicted"--and suddenly he would feel
+relieved and a desire would come over him to go to some dear friend and
+question gently:
+
+"Our life--is this life? Eh, my dearest, is this life?"
+
+And then suddenly it would appear laughable to him and he would feel
+like mussing up his hair, putting forth his knee and thrusting out his
+chest as though to receive heavy blows; saying: "Here, strike!"
+
+He did not tell anybody, not even his nearest comrades, about his "joy
+of all the afflicted" and it was as though he himself did not know about
+it,--so deeply was it hidden in his soul. He recalled it but rarely and
+cautiously.
+
+Now when the terror of the insoluble mystery, which appeared so plainly
+before him, enveloped him completely, even as the water in high-flood
+covers the willow twigs on the shore,--a desire came upon him to pray. He
+felt like kneeling, but he was ashamed of the soldier and, folding his
+arms on his chest, he whispered softly:
+
+"The joy of all the afflicted!" And he repeated tenderly, in anguish:
+"Joy of all the afflicted, come to me, help Vaska Kashirin."
+
+"Long ago, while he was yet in his first term at the university and used
+to go off on a spree sometimes, before he had made the acquaintance of
+Werner and before he had entered the organization, he used then to call
+himself half-boastingly, half-pityingly, "Vaska Kashirin,"--and now for
+some reason or other he suddenly felt like calling himself by the same
+name again. But the words had a dead and toneless sound. "The joy of all
+the afflicted!"
+
+Something stirred. It was as though some one's calm and mournful
+image had flashed up in the distance and died out quietly, without
+illuminating the deathly gloom. The wound-up clock in the steeple
+struck. The soldier in the corridor made a noise with his gun or with
+his saber and he yawned, slowly, at intervals.
+
+"Joy of all the afflicted! You are silent! Will you not say anything to
+Vaska Kashirin?"
+
+He smiled patiently and waited. All was empty within his soul and
+about him. And the calm, mournful image did not reappear. He recalled,
+painfully and unnecessarily, wax candles burning; the priest in his
+vestments; the ikon painted on the wall. He recalled his father, bending
+and stretching himself, praying and bowing to the ground, while looking
+sidewise to see whether Vaska was praying, or whether he was planning
+some mischief. And a feeling of still greater terror came over Vasily
+than before the prayer.
+
+Everything now disappeared.
+
+Madness came crawling painfully. His consciousness was dying out like
+an extinguishing bonfire, growing icy like the corpse of a man who
+had just died, whose heart is still warm but whose hands and feet had
+already become stiffened with cold. His dying reason flared up as red
+as blood again and said that he, Vasily Kashirin, might perhaps become
+insane here, suffer pains for which there is no name, reach a degree of
+anguish and suffering that had never been experienced by a single living
+being; that he might beat his head against the wall, pick his eyes out
+with his fingers, speak and shout whatever he pleased, that he might
+plead with tears that he could endure it no longer,--and nothing would
+happen. Nothing could happen.
+
+And nothing happened. His feet, which had a consciousness and life of
+their own, continued to walk and to carry his trembling, moist body.
+His hands, which had a consciousness of their own, endeavored in vain to
+fasten the coat which was open at his chest and to warm his trembling,
+moist body.
+
+His body quivered with cold. His eyes stared. And this was calm itself
+embodied.
+
+But there was one more moment of wild terror. That was when people
+entered his cell. He did not even imagine that this visit meant that
+it was time to go to the execution; he simply saw the people and was
+frightened like a child.
+
+"I will not do it! I will not do it!" he whispered inaudibly with his
+livid lips and silently retreated to the depth of the cell, even as in
+childhood he shrank when his father lifted his hand.
+
+"We must start."
+
+The people were speaking, walking around him, handing him something. He
+closed his eyes, he shook a little,--and began to dress himself slowly.
+His consciousness must have returned to him, for he suddenly asked the
+official for a cigarette. And the official generously opened his silver
+cigarette-case upon which was a chased figure in the style of the
+decadents.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X. THE WALLS ARE FALLING
+
+
+The unidentified man, who called himself Werner, was tired of life
+and struggle. There was a time when he loved life very dearly, when he
+enjoyed the theater, literature and social intercourse. Endowed with
+an excellent memory and a firm will, he had mastered several European
+languages and could easily pass for a German, a Frenchman or an
+Englishman. He usually spoke German with a Bavarian accent, but when he
+felt like it, he could speak like a born Berliner. He was fond of dress,
+his manners were excellent and he alone, of all the members of the
+organization, dared attend the balls given in high society, without
+running the risk of being recognized as an outsider.
+
+But for a long time, altogether unnoticed by his comrades, there had
+ripened in his soul a dark contempt for mankind; contempt mingled
+with despair and painful, almost deadly fatigue. By nature rather a
+mathematician than a poet, he had not known until now any inspiration,
+any ecstasy and at times he felt like a madman, looking for the squaring
+of a circle in pools of human blood. The enemy against whom he struggled
+every day could not inspire him with respect. It was a dense net of
+stupidity, treachery and falsehood, vile insults and base deceptions.
+The last incident which seemed to have destroyed in him forever the
+desire to live, was the murder of the provocateur which he had committed
+by order of the organization. He had killed him in cold blood, but when
+he saw that dead, deceitful, now calm, and after all pitiful, human
+face, he suddenly ceased to respect himself and his work. Not that
+he was seized with a feeling of repentance, but he simply stopped
+appreciating himself. He became uninteresting to himself, unimportant,
+a dull stranger. But being a man of strong, unbroken will-power, he did
+not leave the organization. He remained outwardly the same as before,
+only there was something cold, yet painful in his eyes. He never spoke
+to anyone of this.
+
+He possessed another rare quality: just as there are people who have
+never known headaches, so Werner had never known fear. When other people
+were afraid, he looked upon them without censure but also without any
+particular compassion, just as upon a rather contagious illness from
+which, however, he himself had never suffered. He felt sorry for his
+comrades, especially for Vasya Kashirin; but that was a cold, almost
+official pity, which even some of the judges may have felt at times.
+
+Werner understood that the execution was not merely death, that it was
+something different,--but he resolved to face it calmly, as something not
+to be considered; to live until the end as if nothing had happened
+and as if nothing could happen. Only in this way could he express his
+greatest contempt for capital punishment and preserve his last freedom
+of the spirit which could not be torn away from him. At the trial--and
+even his comrades who knew well his cold, haughty fearlessness would
+perhaps not have believed this,--he thought neither of death nor of
+life,--but concentrated his attention deeply and coolly upon a difficult
+chess game which he was playing. A superior chess player, he had
+started this game on the first day of his imprisonment and continued it
+uninterruptedly. Even the sentence condemning him to death by hanging
+did not remove a single figure from his imaginary chessboard. Even the
+knowledge that he would not be able to finish this game, did not stop
+him; and the morning of the last day that he was to remain on earth he
+started by correcting a not altogether successful move he had made on
+the previous day. Clasping his lowered hands between his knees, he sat
+for a long time motionless, then he rose and began to walk, meditating.
+His walk was peculiar: he leaned the upper part of his body slightly
+forward and stamped the ground with his heels firmly and distinctly. His
+steps usually left deep, plain imprints even on dry ground. He whistled
+softly, in one breath, a simple Italian melody, which helped his
+meditation.
+
+But this time for some reason or other the thing did not work well.
+With an unpleasant feeling that he had made some important, even grave
+blunder, he went back several times and examined the game almost from
+the beginning. He found no blunder, yet the feeling about a blunder
+committed not only failed to leave him, but even grew ever more intense
+and unpleasant. Suddenly an unexpected and offensive thought came into
+his mind: Did the blunder perhaps consist in his playing chess simply
+because he wanted to distract his attention from the execution and thus
+shield himself against the fear of death which is apparently inevitable
+in every person condemned to death?
+
+"No. What for?" he answered coldly and closed calmly his imaginary
+chessboard. And with the same concentration with which he had played
+chess, he tried to give himself an account of the horror and the
+helplessness of his situation. As though he were going through a strict
+examination, he looked over the cell, trying not to let anything escape.
+He counted the hours that remained until the execution, made for himself
+an approximate and quite exact picture of the execution itself and
+shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"Well?" he said to some one half-questioningly. "Here it is. Where is
+the fear?"
+
+Indeed there was no fear. Not only was it not there, but something
+entirely different, the reverse of fear, developed--a sensation of
+confused, but enormous and savage joy. And the error, which he had not
+yet discovered, no longer called forth in him vexation or irritation,--it
+seemed to speak loudly of something good and unexpected, as though he
+had believed a dear friend of his to be dead, and that friend turned out
+to be alive, safe and sound and laughing.
+
+Werner again shrugged his shoulders and felt his pulse,--his heart was
+beating faster than usual, but soundly and evenly, with a specially
+ringing throb. He looked about once more, attentively, like a novice for
+the first time in prison,--examined the walls, the bolts, the chair which
+was screwed to the floor, and thought:
+
+"Why do I feel so easy, so joyous and free? Yes, so free? I think of the
+execution to-morrow--and I feel as though it is not there. I look at
+the walls--and I feel as though they are not here, either. And I feel
+so free, as though I were not in prison, but had just come out of some
+prison where I had spent all my life. What does this mean?"
+
+His hands began to tremble,--something Werner had not experienced before.
+His thoughts fluttered ever more furiously. It was as if tongues of
+fire had flashed up in his mind, and the fire wanted to burst forth
+and illumine the distance which was still dark as night. Now the light
+pierced through and the widely illuminated distance began to shine.
+
+The fatigue that had tormented Werner during the last two years had
+disappeared; the dead, cold, heavy serpent with its closed eyes and
+mouth clinched in death, had fallen away from his breast. Before the
+face of death, beautiful Youth came back to him physically. Indeed, it
+was more than beautiful Youth. With that wonderful clarity of the spirit
+which in rare moments comes over man and lifts him to the loftiest peaks
+of meditation, Werner suddenly perceived both life and death, and he was
+awed by the splendor of the unprecedented spectacle. It seemed to him
+that he was walking along the highest mountain-ridge, which was narrow
+like the blade of a knife, and on one side he saw Life, on the other
+side--Death,--like two sparkling, deep, beautiful seas, blending in one
+boundless, broad surface at the horizon.
+
+"What is this? What a divine spectacle!" he said slowly, rising
+involuntarily and straightening himself, as if in the presence of
+a supreme being. And destroying the walls, space and time with the
+impetuosity of his all-penetrating look, he cast a wide glance somewhere
+into the depth of the life he was to forsake.
+
+And life appeared to him in a new light. He did not strive, as before,
+to clothe in words that which he had seen; nor were there such words
+in the still poor, meager human language. That small, cynical and evil
+feeling which had called forth in him a contempt for mankind and at
+times even an aversion for the sight of a human face, had disappeared
+completely. Thus, for a man who goes up in an airship, the filth and
+litter of the narrow streets disappear and that which was ugly becomes
+beautiful.
+
+Unconsciously Werner stepped over to the table and leaned his right hand
+on it. Proud and commanding by nature, he had never before assumed such
+a proud, free, commanding pose, had never turned his head and never
+looked as he did now,--for he had never yet been as free and dominant
+as he was here in the prison, with but a few hours from execution and
+death.
+
+Now men seemed new to him,--they appeared amiable and charming to his
+clarified vision. Soaring over time, he saw clearly how young mankind
+was, that but yesterday it had been howling like a beast in the forests;
+and that which had seemed to him terrible in human beings, unpardonable
+and repulsive, suddenly became very dear to him,--like the inability of
+a child to walk as grown people do, like a child's unconnected lisping,
+flashing with sparks of genius; like a child's comical blunders, errors
+and painful bruises.
+
+"My dear people!" Werner suddenly smiled and at once lost all that was
+imposing in his pose; he again became a prisoner who finds his cell
+narrow and uncomfortable under lock, and he was tired of the annoying,
+searching eye staring at him through the peephole in the door. And,
+strange to say, almost instantly he forgot all that he had seen a little
+while before so clearly and distinctly; and, what is still stranger,
+he did not even make an effort to recall it. He simply sat down as
+comfortably as possible, without the usual stiffness of his body,
+and surveyed the walls and the bars with a faint and gentle,
+strange, un-Werner-like smile. Still another new thing happened to
+Werner,--something that had never happened to him before: he suddenly
+started to weep.
+
+"My dear comrades!" he whispered, crying bitterly. "My dear comrades!"
+
+By what mysterious ways did he change from the feeling of proud and
+boundless freedom to this tender and passionate compassion? He did not
+know, nor did he think of it. Did he pity his dear comrades, or did
+his tears conceal something else, a still loftier and more passionate
+feeling?-His suddenly revived and rejuvenated heart did not know this
+either. He wept and whispered:
+
+"My dear comrades! My dear, dear comrades!"
+
+In this man, who was bitterly weeping and smiling through tears, no
+one could have recognized the cold and haughty, weary, yet daring
+Werner--neither the judges, nor the comrades, nor even he himself.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI ON THE WAY TO THE SCAFFOLD
+
+
+Before placing the condemned people in coaches, all five were brought
+together in a large cold room with a vaulted ceiling, which resembled an
+office, where people worked no longer, or a deserted waiting-room. They
+were now permitted to speak to one another.
+
+Only Tanya Kovalchuk availed herself at once of the permission. The
+others firmly and silently shook each other's hands, which were as cold
+as ice and as hot as fire,--and silently, trying not to look at each
+other, they crowded together in an awkward, absent-minded group. Now
+that they were together, they felt somewhat ashamed of what each of them
+had experienced when alone; and they were afraid to look, so as not to
+notice or to show that new, peculiar, somewhat shameful sensation that
+each of them felt or suspected the others of feeling.
+
+But after a short silence they glanced at each other, smiled and
+immediately began to feel at ease and unrestrained, as before. No change
+seemed to have occurred, and if it had occurred, it had come so gently
+over all of them that it could not be discerned in any one separately.
+All spoke and moved about strangely: abruptly, by jolts, either too
+fast or too slowly. Sometimes they seemed to choke with their words and
+repeated them a number of times; sometimes they did not finish a phrase
+they had started, or thought they had finished--they did not notice it.
+They all blinked their eyes and examined ordinary objects curiously, not
+recognizing them, like people who had worn eye-glasses and had suddenly
+taken them off; and all of them frequently turned around abruptly, as
+though some one behind them was calling them all the time and showing
+them something. But they did not notice this, either. Musya's and Tanya
+Kovalchuk's cheeks and ears were burning; Sergey was at first somewhat
+pale, but he soon recovered and looked as he always did.
+
+Only Vasily attracted everybody's attention. Even among them, he looked
+strange and terrible. Werner became agitated and said to Musya in a low
+voice, with tender anxiety:
+
+"What does this mean, Musyechka? Is it possible that he---- What? I must
+go to him."
+
+Vasily looked at Werner from the distance, as though not recognizing
+him, and he lowered his eyes.
+
+"Vasya, what have you done with your hair? What is the matter with you?
+Never mind, my dear, never mind, it will soon be over. We must keep up,
+we must, we must."
+
+Vasily was silent. But when it seemed that he would no longer say
+anything, a dull, belated, terribly remote answer came--like an answer
+from the grave:
+
+"I'm all right. I hold my own."
+
+Then he repeated:
+
+"I hold my own."
+
+Werner was delighted.
+
+"That's the way, that's the way. Good boy. That's the way."
+
+But his eyes met Vasily's dark, wearied glance fixed upon him from the
+distance and he thought with instant sorrow: "From where is he looking?
+From where is he speaking?" and with profound tenderness, with which
+people address a grave, he said:
+
+"Vasya, do you hear? I love you very much."
+
+"So do I love you very much," answered the tongue, moving with
+difficulty.
+
+Suddenly Musya took Werner by the hand and with an expression of
+surprise, she said like an actress on the stage, with measured emphasis:
+
+"Werner, what is this? You said, 'I love'? You never before said 'I
+love' to anybody. And why are you all so--tender and serene? Why?"
+
+"Why?"
+
+And like an actor, also accentuating what he felt, Werner pressed
+Musya's hand firmly:
+
+"Yes, now I love very much. Don't tell it to the others,--it isn't
+necessary, I feel somewhat ashamed, but I love deeply."
+
+Their eyes met and flashed up brightly, and everything about them seemed
+to have plunged in darkness. It is thus that in the flash of lightning
+all other lights are instantly darkened and the heavy yellow flame casts
+a shadow upon earth.
+
+"Yes," said Musya, "yes, Werner."
+
+"Yes," he answered, "yes, Musya, yes."
+
+They understood each other and something was firmly settled between them
+at this moment. And his eyes glistening, Werner again became agitated
+and quickly stepped over to Sergey.
+
+"Seryozha!"
+
+But Tanya Kovalchuk answered. Almost crying with maternal pride, she
+tugged Sergey frantically by the sleeve.
+
+"Listen, Werner! I am crying here for him, I am wearing myself to death,
+and he is occupying himself with gymnastics!"
+
+"According to the Mueller system?" smiled Werner.
+
+Sergey knit his brow confusedly.
+
+"You needn't laugh, Werner. I have convinced myself conclusively--"
+
+All began to laugh. Drawing strength and courage from one another, they
+gradually regained their poise--became the same as they used to be. They
+did not notice this, however, and thought that they had never changed at
+all. Suddenly Werner interrupted their laughter and said to Sergey very
+earnestly:
+
+"You are right, Seryozha. You are perfectly right."
+
+"No, but you must understand," said Golovin gladly. "Of course, we--"
+
+But at this point they were asked to start. And their jailers were so
+kind as to permit them to ride in pairs, as they pleased. Altogether
+the jailers were extremely kind; even too kind. It was as if they tried
+partly to show themselves humane and partly to show that they were not
+there at all, but that everything was being done as by machinery. But
+they were all pale.
+
+"Musya, you go with him." Werner pointed at Vasily, who stood
+motionless.
+
+"I understand," Musya nodded. "And you?"
+
+"I? Tanya will go with Sergey, you go with Vasya.... I will go alone.
+That doesn't matter, I can do it, you know."
+
+When they went out in the yard, the moist, soft darkness rushed warmly
+and strongly against their faces, their eyes, taking their breath away,
+then suddenly it penetrated their bodies tenderly and refreshingly. It
+was hard to believe that this wonderful effect was produced simply by
+the spring wind, the warm, moist wind. And the really wonderful
+spring night was filled with the odor of melting snow, and through the
+boundless space the noise of drops resounded. Hastily and frequently,
+as though trying to overtake one another, little drops were falling,
+striking in unison a ringing tune. Suddenly one of them would strike out
+of tune and all was mingled in a merry splash in hasty confusion. Then a
+large, heavy drop would strike firmly and again the fast, spring
+melody resounded distinctly. And over the city, above the roofs of
+the fortress, hung a pale redness in the sky reflected by the electric
+lights.
+
+"U-ach!" Sergey Golovin heaved a deep sigh and held his breath, as
+though he regretted to exhale from his lungs the fine, fresh air.
+
+"How long have you had such weather?" inquired Werner. "It's real
+spring."
+
+"It's only the second day," was the polite answer. "Before that we had
+mostly frosty weather."
+
+The dark carriages rolled over noiselessly one after another, took them
+in by twos, started off into the darkness--there where the lantern was
+shaking at the gate. The convoys like gray silhouettes surrounded each
+carriage; the horseshoes struck noisily against the ground, or plashed
+upon the melting snow.
+
+When Werner bent down, about to climb into the carriage, the gendarme
+whispered to him:
+
+"There is somebody else going along with you."
+
+Werner was surprised.
+
+"Where? Where is he going? Oh, yes! Another one? Who is he?"
+
+The gendarme was silent. Indeed, in a dark corner a small, motionless
+but living figure pressed close to the side of the carriage. By the
+reflection of the lantern Werner noticed the flash of an open eye.
+Seating himself, Werner pushed his foot against the other man's knee.
+
+"Excuse me, comrade."
+
+The man made no reply. It was only when the carriage started, that he
+suddenly asked in broken Russian, speaking with difficulty:
+
+"Who are you?"
+
+"I am Werner, condemned to hanging for the attempt upon N--. And you?"
+
+"I am Yanson. They must not hang me."
+
+They were riding thus in order to appear two hours later face to face
+before the inexplicable great mystery, in order to pass from Life
+to Death--and they were introducing each other. Life and Death moved
+simultaneously, and until the very end Life remained life, to the most
+ridiculous and insipid trifles.
+
+"What have you done, Yanson?"
+
+"I killed my master with a knife. I stole money."
+
+It seemed from the tone of his voice that Yanson was falling asleep.
+Werner found his flabby hand in the darkness and pressed it. Yanson
+withdrew it drowsily.
+
+"Are you afraid?" asked Werner.
+
+"I don't want to be hanged."
+
+They became silent. Werner again found the Esthonian's hand and pressed
+it firmly between his dry, burning palms. Yanson's hand lay motionless,
+like a board, but he made no longer any effort to withdraw it.
+
+It was close and suffocating in the carriage. The air was filled with
+the smell of soldiers' clothes, mustiness, and the leather of wet boots.
+The young gendarme who sat opposite Werner breathed warmly upon him, and
+in his breath there was the odor of onions and cheap tobacco. But some
+brisk, fresh air came in through certain clefts, and because of this,
+spring was felt even more intensely in this small, stifling, moving box,
+than outside. The carriage kept turning now to the right, now to the
+left, now it seemed to turn back. At times it seemed as though they had
+been turning around on one and the same spot for hours for some reason
+or other. At first a bluish electric light penetrated through the
+lowered, heavy window shades; then suddenly, after a certain turn it
+grew dark, and only by this could they guess that they had turned into
+deserted streets in the outskirts of the city and that they were nearing
+the S. railroad station. Sometimes during sharp turns, Werner's live,
+bent knee would strike against the live, bent knee of the gendarme, and
+it was hard to believe that the execution was approaching.
+
+"Where are we going?" Yanson asked suddenly. He was somewhat dizzy from
+the continuous turning of the dark box and he felt slightly sick at his
+stomach.
+
+Werner answered and pressed the Esthonian's hand more firmly. He felt
+like saying something especially kind and caressing to this little,
+sleepy man, and he already loved him as he had never loved anyone in his
+life.
+
+"You don't seem to sit comfortably, my dear man. Move over here, to me."
+
+Yanson was silent for awhile, then he replied:
+
+"Well, thank you. I'm sitting all right. Are they going to hang you
+too?"
+
+"Yes," answered Werner, almost laughing with unexpected jollity, and
+he waved his hand easily and freely, as though he were speaking of some
+absurd and trifling joke which kind but terribly comical people wanted
+to play on him.
+
+"Have you a wife?" asked Yanson.
+
+"No. I have no wife. I am single."
+
+"I am also alone. Alone," said Yanson.
+
+Werner's head also began to feel dizzy. And at times it seemed that they
+were going to some festival; strange to say, almost all those who went
+to the scaffold experienced the same sensation and mingled with sorrow
+and fear there was a vague joy as they anticipated the extraordinary
+thing that was soon to befall them. Reality was intoxicated with madness
+and Death, united with Life, brought forth apparitions. It seemed very
+possible that flags were waving over the houses.
+
+"We have arrived!" said Werner gayly when the carriage stopped, and he
+jumped out easily. But with Yanson it was a rather slow affair: silently
+and very drowsily he resisted and would not come out. He seized the
+knob. The gendarme opened the weak fingers and pulled his hand away.
+Then Yanson seized the corner of the carriage, the door, the high wheel,
+but immediately let it go upon the slightest effort on the part of the
+gendarme. He did not exactly seize these things; he rather cleaved to
+each object sleepily and silently, and was torn away easily, without any
+effort. Finally he got up.
+
+There were no flags. The railroad station was dark, deserted and
+lifeless; the passenger trains were not running any longer, and the
+train which was silently waiting for these passengers on the way needed
+no bright light, no commotion. Suddenly Werner began to feel weary.
+It was not fear, nor anguish, but a feeling of enormous, painful,
+tormenting weariness which makes one feel like going off somewhere,
+lying down and closing one's eyes very tightly. Werner stretched himself
+and yawned slowly. Yanson also stretched himself and quickly yawned
+several times.
+
+"I wish they'd be quicker about it," said Werner wearily. Yanson was
+silent, shrinking together.
+
+When the condemned moved along the deserted platform which was
+surrounded by soldiers, to the dimly lighted cars, Werner found himself
+near Sergey Golovin; Sergey, pointing with his hand somewhere
+aside, began to say something, but only the word "lantern" was heard
+distinctly, and the rest was drowned in slow and weary yawning.
+
+"What did you say?" asked Werner, also yawning.
+
+"The lantern. The lamp in the lantern is smoking," said Sergey. Werner
+looked around. Indeed, the lamp in the lantern was smoking very much,
+and the glass had already turned black on top.
+
+"Yes, it is smoking."
+
+Suddenly he thought: "What have I to do with the smoking of the lamp,
+since---"
+
+Sergey apparently thought the same, as he glanced quickly at Werner and
+turned away. But both stopped yawning.
+
+They all went to the cars themselves, only Yanson had to be led by the
+arms. At first he stamped his feet and his boots seemed to stick to the
+boards of the platform. Then he bent his knees and fell into the arms
+of the gendarmes, his feet dangled like those of a very intoxicated man,
+and the tips of the boots scraped against the wood. It took a long time
+until he was silently pushed through the door.
+
+Vasily Kashirin also moved himself, unconsciously imitating the
+movements of his comrades--he did everything as they did. But on boarding
+the platform of the car, he stumbled, and a gendarme took him by the
+elbow to support him. Vasily shuddered and screamed shrilly, drawing
+back his arm:
+
+"Ai!"
+
+"What is it, Vasya?" Werner rushed over to him. Vasily was silent,
+trembling in every limb. The confused and even offended gendarme
+explained:
+
+"I wanted to keep him from falling, and he--"
+
+"Come, Vasya, let me hold you," said Werner, about to take him by the
+arm. But Vasily drew back his arm again and cried more loudly than
+before:
+
+"Ai!"
+
+"Vasya, it is I, Werner."
+
+"I know. Don't touch me. I'll go myself."
+
+And continuing to tremble he entered the car himself and seated himself
+in a corner. Bending over to Musya, Werner asked her softly, pointing
+with his eyes at Vasily:
+
+"How about him?"
+
+"Bad," answered Musya, also in a soft voice. "He is dead already.
+Werner, tell me, is there such a thing as death?"
+
+"I don't know, Musya, but I think that there is no such thing," replied
+Werner seriously and thoughtfully.
+
+"That's what I have thought. But he? I was tortured with him in the
+carriage--it was like riding with a corpse."
+
+"I don't know, Musya. Perhaps there is such a thing as death for some
+people. Meanwhile, perhaps, but later there will be no death. For me
+death also existed before, but now it exists no longer."
+
+Musya's somewhat paled cheeks flushed as she asked:
+
+"It did exist, Werner? It did?"
+
+"It did. But not now any longer. Just the same as with you."
+
+A noise was heard in the doorway of the car. Mishka Tsiganok entered,
+stamping noisily with his heels, breathing loudly and spitting. He cast
+a swift glance and stopped obdurately.
+
+"No room here, gendarme!" he shouted to the tired gendarme who looked
+at him angrily. "You make it so that I am comfortable here, otherwise
+I won't go--hang me here on the lamp-post. What a carriage they gave me,
+dogs! Is that a carriage? It's the devil's belly, not a carriage!"
+
+But suddenly he bent down his head, stretched out his neck and thus went
+forward to the others. Out of the disheveled frame of hair and beard his
+black eyes looked wildly and sharply with an almost insane expression.
+
+"Ah, gentlemen!" he drawled out. "So that's what it is. Hello, master!"
+
+He thrust his hand to Werner and sat down opposite him. And bending
+closely over to him, he winked one eye and quickly passed his hand over
+his throat.
+
+"You, too? What?"
+
+"Yes!" smiled Werner.
+
+"Are all of us to be hanged?"
+
+"All."
+
+"Oho!" Tsiganok grinned, showing his teeth, and quickly felt everybody
+with his eyes, stopping for an instant longer on Musya and Yanson. Then
+he winked again to Werner.
+
+"The Minister?"
+
+"Yes, the Minister. And you?"
+
+"I am here for something else, master. People like me don't deal with
+ministers. I am a murderer, master, that's what I am. An ordinary
+murderer. Never mind, master, move away a little, I haven't come into
+your company of my own will. There will be room enough for all of us in
+the other world."
+
+He surveyed them all with one swift, suspicious, wild glance from under
+his disheveled hair. But all looked at him silently and seriously,
+even with apparent interest. He grinned, showing his teeth, and quickly
+clapped Werner on the knee several times.
+
+"That's the way, master! How does the song run? 'Don't rustle, O green
+little mother forest....'"
+
+"Why do you call me 'master,' since we are all going--"
+
+"Correct," Tsiganok agreed with satisfaction. "What kind of master are
+you, if you are going to hang right beside me? There is a master for
+you"; and he pointed with his finger at the silent gendarme. "Eh, that
+fellow there is not worse than our kind"; he pointed with his eyes at
+Vasily. "Master! He there, master! You're afraid, aren't you?"
+
+"No," answered the heavy tongue.
+
+"Never mind that 'No.' Don't be ashamed; there's nothing to be ashamed
+of. Only a dog wags his tail and snarls when he is taken to be hanged,
+but you are a man. Who is that dope? He isn't one of you, is he?"
+
+He darted his glance rapidly about, and hissing, kept spitting
+continuously. Yanson, curled up into a motionless bundle, pressed
+closely into the corner. The flaps of his outworn fur cap stirred, but
+he maintained silence. Werner answered for him:
+
+"He killed his employer."
+
+"O Lord!" wondered Tsiganok. "Why are such people allowed to kill?"
+
+For some time Tsiganok had been looking sideways at Musya; now turning
+quickly, he stared at her sharply, straight into her face.
+
+"Young lady, young lady! What about you? Her cheeks are rosy and she is
+laughing. Look, she is really laughing," he said, clasping Werner's knee
+with his clutching, iron-like fingers. "Look, look!"
+
+Reddening, smiling confusedly, Musya also gazed straight into his sharp
+and wildly searching eyes.
+
+The wheels rattled fast and noisily. The small cars kept hopping along
+the narrow rails. Now at a curve or at a crossing the small engine
+whistled shrilly and carefully--the engineer was afraid lest he
+might run over somebody. It was strange to think that so much humane
+painstaking care and exertion was being introduced into the business of
+hanging people; that the most insane deed on earth was being committed
+with such an air of simplicity and reasonableness. The cars were
+running, and human beings sat in them as people always do, and they
+rode as people usually ride; and then there would be a halt, as usual.
+
+"The train will stop for five minutes."
+
+And there death would be waiting--eternity--the great mystery, on with
+friendliness, watching how Yanson's fingers took the cigarette, how the
+match flared, and then how the blue smoke issued from Yanson's mouth.
+
+"Thanks," said Yanson; "it's good."
+
+"How strange!" said Sergey.
+
+"What is strange?" Werner turned around. "What is strange?"
+
+"I mean--the cigarette."
+
+Yanson held a cigarette, an ordinary cigarette, in his ordinary live
+hands, and, pale-faced, looked at it with surprise, even with terror.
+And all fixed their eyes upon the little tube, from the end of which
+smoke was issuing, like a bluish ribbon, wafted aside by the breathing,
+with the ashes, gathering, turning black. The light went out.
+
+"The light's out," said Tanya.
+
+"Yes, the light's out."
+
+"Let it go," said Werner, frowning, looking uneasily at Yanson, whose
+hand, holding the cigarette, was hanging loosely, as if dead. Suddenly
+Tsiganok turned quickly, bent over to Werner, close to him, face to
+face, and rolling the whites of his eyes, like a horse, whispered:
+
+"Master, how about the convoys? Suppose we--we? Shall we try?"
+
+"No, don't do it," Werner replied, also in a whisper. "We shall drink it
+to the bitter end."
+
+"Why not? It's livelier in a fight! Eh? I strike him, he strikes me, and
+you don't even know how the thing is done. It's just as if you don't die
+at all."
+
+"No, you shouldn't do it," said Werner, and turned to Yanson. "Why don't
+you smoke, friend?"
+
+Suddenly Yanson's wizened face became wofully wrinkled, as if somebody
+had pulled strings which set all the wrinkles in motion. And, as in a
+dream, he began to whimper, without tears, in a dry, strained voice:
+
+"I don't want to smoke. Aha! aha! aha! Why should I be hanged? Aha! aha!
+aha!"
+
+They began to bustle about him. Tanya Kovalchuk, weeping freely, petted
+him on the arm, and adjusted the drooping earlaps of his worn fur cap.
+
+"My dear, do not cry! My own! my dear! Poor, unfortunate little fellow!"
+
+Musya looked aside. Tsiganok caught her glance and grinned, showing his
+teeth.
+
+"What a queer fellow! He drinks tea, and yet feels cold," he said, with
+an abrupt laugh. But suddenly his own face became bluish-black, like
+cast-iron, and his large yellow teeth flashed.
+
+Suddenly the little cars trembled and slackened their speed. All, except
+Yanson and Kashirin, rose and sat down again quickly.
+
+"Here is the station," said Sergey.
+
+It seemed to them as if all the air had been suddenly pumped out of the
+car, it became so difficult to breathe. The heart grew larger,
+making the chest almost burst, beating in the throat, tossing about
+madly--shouting in horror with its blood-filled voice. And the eyes
+looked upon the quivering floor, and the ears heard how the wheels were
+turning ever more slowly--the wheels slipped and turned again, and then
+suddenly--they stopped.
+
+The train had halted.
+
+Then a dream set in. It was not terrible, rather fantastic, unfamiliar
+to the memory, strange. The dreamer himself seemed to remain aside,
+only his bodiless apparition moved about, spoke soundlessly, walked
+noiselessly, suffered without suffering. As in a dream, they walked out
+of the car, formed into parties of two, inhaled the peculiarly fresh
+spring air of the forest. As in a dream, Yanson resisted bluntly,
+powerlessly, and was dragged out of the car silently.
+
+They descended the steps of the station.
+
+"Are we to walk?" asked some one almost cheerily.
+
+"It isn't far now," answered another, also cheerily.
+
+Then they walked in a large, black, silent crowd amid the forest, along
+a rough, wet and soft spring road. From the forest, from the snow, a
+fresh, strong breath of air was wafted. The feet slipped, sometimes
+sinking into the snow, and involuntarily the hands of the comrades clung
+to each other. And the convoys, breathing with difficulty, walked over
+the untouched snow on each side of the road. Some one said in an angry
+voice:
+
+"Why didn't they clear the road? Did they want us to turn somersaults in
+the snow?"
+
+Some one else apologized guiltily.
+
+"We cleaned it, your Honor. But it is thawing and it can't be helped."
+
+Consciousness of what they were doing returned to the prisoners, but not
+completely,--in fragments, in strange parts. Now, suddenly, their minds
+practically admitted:
+
+"It is indeed impossible to clear the road."
+
+Then again everything died out, and only their sense of smell remained:
+the unbearably fresh smell of the forest and of the melting snow. And
+everything became unusually clear to the consciousness: the forest,
+the night, the road and the fact that soon they would be hanged. Their
+conversation, restrained to whispers, flashed in fragments.
+
+"It is almost four o'clock."
+
+"I said we started too early."
+
+"The sun dawns at five."
+
+"Of course, at five. We should have--"
+
+They stopped in a meadow, in the darkness. A little distance away,
+beyond the bare trees, two small lanterns moved silently. There were the
+gallows.
+
+"I lost one of my rubbers," said Sergey Golovin.
+
+"Really?" asked Werner, not understanding what he said.
+
+"I lost a rubber. It's cold."
+
+"Where's Vasily?"
+
+"I don't know. There he is."
+
+Vasily stood, gloomy, motionless.
+
+"And where is Musya?"
+
+"Here I am. Is that you, Werner?"
+
+They began to look about, avoiding the direction of the gallows,
+where the lanterns continued to move about silently with terrible
+suggestiveness. On the left, the bare forest seemed to be growing
+thinner, and something large and white and flat was visible. A damp wind
+issued from it.
+
+"The sea," said Sergey Golovin, inhaling the air with nose and mouth.
+"The sea is there!"
+
+Musya answered sonorously:
+
+"My love which is as broad as the sea!"
+
+"What is that, Musya?"
+
+"The banks of life cannot hold my love, which is as broad as the sea."
+
+"My love which is as broad as the sea," echoed Sergey, thoughtfully,
+carried away by the sound of her voice and by her words.
+
+"My love which is as broad as the sea," repeated Werner, and suddenly he
+spoke wonderingly, cheerfully:
+
+"Musya, how young you are!"
+
+Suddenly Tsiganok whispered warmly, out of breath, right into Werner's
+ear:
+
+"Master! master! There's the forest! My God! what's that? There--where
+the lanterns are--are those the gallows? What does it mean?"
+
+Werner looked at him. Tsiganok was writhing in agony before his death.
+
+"We must bid each other good-by," said Tanya Kovalchuk.
+
+"Wait, they have yet to read the sentence," answered Werner. "Where is
+Yanson?"
+
+Yanson was lying on the snow, and about him people were busying
+themselves. There was a smell of ammonia in the air.
+
+"Well, what is it, doctor? Will you be through soon?" some one asked
+impatiently.
+
+"It's nothing. He has simply fainted. Rub his ears with snow! He is
+coming to himself already! You may read the sentence!"
+
+The light of the dark lantern flashed upon the paper and on the white,
+gloveless hands holding it. Both the paper and the hands quivered
+slightly, and the voice also quivered:
+
+"Gentlemen, perhaps it is not necessary to read the sentence to you. You
+know it already. What do you say?"
+
+"Don't read it," Werner answered for them all, and the little lantern
+was soon extinguished.
+
+The services of the priest were also declined by them all. Tsiganok
+said:
+
+"Stop your fooling, father--you will forgive me, but they will hang me.
+Go to--where you came from."
+
+And the dark, broad silhouette of the priest moved back silently and
+quickly and disappeared. Day was breaking: the snow turned whiter, the
+figures of the people became more distinct, and the forest--thinner, more
+melancholy.
+
+"Gentlemen, you must go in pairs. Take your places in pairs as you wish,
+but I ask you to hurry up."
+
+Werner pointed to Yanson, who was now standing, supported by two
+gendarmes.
+
+"I will go with him. And you, Seryozha, take Vasily. Go ahead."
+
+"Very well."
+
+"You and I go together, Musechka, shall we not?" asked Tanya Kovalchuk.
+"Come, let us kiss each other good-by."
+
+They kissed one another quickly. Tsiganok kissed firmly, so that they
+felt his teeth; Yanson softly, drowsily, with his mouth half open--and it
+seemed that he did not understand what he was doing.
+
+When Sergey Golovin and Kashirin had gone a few steps, Kashirin suddenly
+stopped and said loudly and distinctly:
+
+"Good-by, comrades."
+
+"Good-by, comrade," they shouted in answer.
+
+They went off. It grew quiet. The lanterns beyond the trees became
+motionless. They awaited an outcry, a voice, some kind of noise--but it
+was just as quiet there as it was among them--and the yellow lanterns
+were motionless.
+
+"Oh, my God!" some one cried hoarsely and wildly. They looked about.
+It was Tsiganok, writhing in agony at the thought of death. "They are
+hanging!"
+
+They turned away from him, and again it became quiet. Tsiganok was
+writhing, catching at the air with his hands.
+
+"How is that, gentlemen? Am I to go alone? It's livelier to die
+together. Gentlemen, what does it mean?"
+
+He seized Werner by the hand, his fingers clutching and then relaxing.
+
+"Dear master, at least you come with me? Eh? Do me the favor? Don't
+refuse."
+
+Werner answered painfully:
+
+"I can't, my dear fellow. I am going with him."
+
+"Oh, my God! Must I go alone, then? My God! How is it to be?"
+
+Musya stepped forward and said softly:
+
+"You may go with me."
+
+Tsiganok stepped back and rolled the whites of his eyes wildly.
+
+"With you!"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Just think of her! What a little girl! And you're not afraid? If you
+are, I would rather go alone!"
+
+"No, I am not afraid."
+
+Tsiganok grinned.
+
+"Just think of her! But do you know that I am a murderer? Don't you
+despise me? You had better not do it. I shan't be angry at you."
+
+Musya was silent, and in the faint light of dawn her face was pale
+and enigmatic. Then suddenly she walked over to Tsiganok quickly, and,
+throwing her arms about his neck, kissed him firmly upon his lips. He
+took her by the shoulders with his fingers, held her away from himself,
+then shook her, and, with loud smacks, kissed her on the lips, on the
+nose, on the eyes.
+
+"Come!"
+
+Suddenly the soldier standing nearest them staggered forward, and
+opening his hands, let his gun drop. He did not stoop down to regain it,
+but stood for an instant motionless, turned abruptly and, like a blind
+man, walked toward the forest over the untouched snow.
+
+"Where are you going?" called out another soldier in fright. "Halt!"
+
+But the man continued walking through the deep snow silently and with
+difficulty. Then he must have stumbled over something, for he waved his
+arms and fell face downward. And there he remained lying on the snow.
+
+"Pick up the gun, you sour-faced gray-coat, or I'll pick it up," said
+Tsiganok sternly to the other soldier. "You don't know your business!"
+
+The little lanterns began to move about busily again. Now it was the
+turn of Werner and Yanson.
+
+"Good-by, master!" called Tsiganok loudly. "We'll meet each other in the
+other world, you'll see! Don't turn away from me. When you see me, bring
+me some water to drink--it will be hot there for me!"
+
+"Good-by!"
+
+"I don't want to be hanged!" said Yanson drowsily.
+
+Werner took him by the hand, and then the Esthonian walked a few steps
+alone. But later they saw him stop and fall down in the snow. Soldiers
+bent over him, lifted him up and carried him on, and he struggled
+faintly in their arms. Why did he not cry? He must have forgotten even
+that he had a voice.
+
+And again the little yellow lanterns became motionless.
+
+"And I, Musechka," said Tanya Kovalchuk mournfully, "must I go alone? We
+lived together, and now--"
+
+"Tanechka, dearest--"
+
+But Tsiganok took her part heatedly.
+
+Holding her by the hand, as though fearing that some one would take her
+away from him, he said quickly, in a business-like manner, to Tanya:
+
+"Ah, young lady, you can go alone! You are a pure soul--you can go alone
+wherever you please! But I--I can't! A murderer!... Understand? I can't
+go alone! Where are you going, you murderer? they will ask me. Why, I
+even stole horses, by God! But with her it is just as if--just as if I
+were with an infant, understand? Do you understand me?"
+
+"I do. Go. Come, let me kiss you once more, Musechka."
+
+"Kiss! Kiss each other!" urged Tsiganok. "That's a woman's job! You must
+bid each other a hearty good-by!"
+
+Musya and Tsiganok moved forward. Musya walked cautiously, slipping, and
+by force of habit raising her skirts slightly. And the man led her to
+death firmly, holding her arm carefully and feeling the ground with his
+foot.
+
+The lights stopped moving. It was quiet and lonely around Tanya
+Kovalchuk. The soldiers were silent, all gray in the soft, colorless
+light of daybreak.
+
+"I am alone," sighed Tanya Kovalchuk suddenly. "Seryozha is dead, Werner
+is dead--and Vasya, too. I am alone! Soldiers! soldiers! I am alone,
+alone--"
+
+The sun was rising over the sea.
+
+The bodies were placed in a box. Then they were taken away. With
+stretched necks, with bulging eyes, with blue, swollen tongues, looking
+like some unknown, terrible flowers between the lips, which were covered
+with bloody foam--the bodies were hurried back along the same road by
+which they had come--alive. And the spring snow was just as soft and
+fresh; the spring air was just as strong and fragrant. And on the snow
+lay Sergey's black rubber-shoe, wet, trampled under foot.
+
+Thus did men greet the rising sun.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Seven who were Hanged, by Leonid Andreyev
+
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Seven who were Hanged, by Leonid Andreyev
+
+Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the
+copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing
+this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook.
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+**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**
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+**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**
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+*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****
+
+
+Title: The Seven who were Hanged
+
+Author: Leonid Andreyev
+
+Release Date: October, 2004  [EBook #6722]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on January 19, 2003]
+
+Edition: 10
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE SEVEN WHO WERE HANGED ***
+
+
+
+
+This eBook was produced by Eric Eldred.
+
+
+
+
+THE SEVEN WHO WERE HANGED
+
+A STORY BY LEONID ANDREYEV
+
+
+
+AUTHORIZED TRANSLATION FROM THE RUSSIAN BT HERMAN BERNSTEIN.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+DEDICATION
+
+
+To Count Leo N. Tolstoy This Book is Dedicated, by Leonid Andreyev
+
+The Translation of this Story Is Also Respectfully Inscribed to Count
+Leo N. Tolstoy by Herman Bernstein
+
+
+
+FOREWORD
+
+Leonid Andreyev, who was born in Oryol, in 1871, is the most popular,
+and next to Tolstoy, the most gifted writer in Russia to-day. Andreyev
+has written many important stories and dramas, the best known among
+which are "Red Laughter," "Life of Man," "To the Stars," "The Life of
+Vasily Fiveisky," "Eliazar," "Black Masks," and "The Story of the
+Seven Who Were Hanged."
+
+In "Red Laughter" he depicted the horrors of war as few men had ever
+before done it. He dipped his pen into the blood of Russia and wrote
+the tragedy of the Manchurian war.
+
+In his "Life of Man" Andreyev produced a great, imaginative "morality"
+play which has been ranked by European critics with some of the
+greatest dramatic masterpieces.
+
+The story of "The Seven Who Were Hanged" is thus far his most
+important achievement. The keen psychological insight and the masterly
+simplicity with which Andreyev has penetrated and depicted each of the
+tragedies of the seven who were hanged place him in the same class as
+an artist with Russia's greatest masters of fiction, Dostoyevsky,
+Turgenev and Tolstoy.
+
+I consider myself fortunate to be able to present to the
+English-reading public this remarkable work, which has already
+produced a profound impression in Europe and which, I believe, is
+destined for a long time to come to play an important part in opening
+the eyes of the world to the horrors perpetrated in Russia and to the
+violence and iniquity of the destruction of human life, whatever the
+error or the crime.
+
+New York.     HERMAN BERNSTEIN.
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+
+[Translation of the Foregoing Letter in Russian]
+
+I am very glad that "The Story of the Seven Who Were Hanged" will be
+read in English. The misfortune of us all is that we know so little,
+even nothing, about one another-neither about the soul, nor the life,
+the sufferings, the habits, the inclinations, the aspirations of one
+another. Literature, which I have the honor to serve, is dear to me
+just because the noblest task it sets before itself is that of wiping
+out boundaries and distances.
+
+As in a hard shell, every human being is enclosed in a cover of body,
+dress, and life. Who is man? We may only conjecture. What constitutes
+his joy or his sorrow? We may guess only by his acts, which are
+oft-times enigmatic; by his laughter and by his tears, which are often
+entirely incomprehensible to us. And if we, Russians, who live so
+closely together in constant misery, understand one another so poorly
+that we mercilessly put to death those who should be pitied or even
+rewarded, and reward those who should be punished by contempt and
+anger -how much more difficult is it for you Americans, to understand
+distant Russia? But then, it is just as difficult for us Russians to
+understand distant America, of which we dream in our youth and over
+which we ponder so deeply in our years of maturity.
+
+The Jewish massacres and famine; a Parliament and executions; pillage
+and the greatest heroism; "The Black Hundred," and Leo Tolstoy-what a
+mixture of figures and conceptions, what a fruitful source for all
+kinds of misunderstandings! The truth of life stands aghast in
+silence, and its brazen falsehood is loudly shouting, uttering
+pressing, painful questions: "With whom shall I sympathize? Whom shall
+I trust? Whom shall I love?"
+
+In the story of "The Seven Who Were Hanged" I attempted to give a
+sincere and unprejudiced answer to some of these questions.
+
+That I have treated ruling and slaughtering Russia with restraint and
+mildness may best be gathered from the fact that the Russian censor
+has permitted my book to circulate. This is sufficient evidence when
+we recall how many books, brochures and newspapers have found eternal
+rest in the peaceful shade of the police stations, where they have
+risen to the patient sky in the smoke and flame of bonfires.
+
+But I did not attempt to condemn the Government, the fame of whose
+wisdom and virtues has already spread far beyond the boundaries of our
+unfortunate fatherland. Modest and bashful far beyond all measure of
+her virtues, Russia would sincerely wish to forego this honor, but
+unfortunately the free press of America and Europe has not spared her
+modesty, and has given a sufficiently clear picture of her glorious
+activities. Perhaps I am wrong in this: it is possible that many
+honest people in America believe in the purity of the Russian
+Government's intentions--but this question is of such importance that
+it requires a special treatment, for which it is necessary to have
+both time and calm of soul. But there is no calm soul in Russia.
+
+My task was to point out the horror and the iniquity of capital
+punishment under any circumstances. The horror of capital punishment
+is great when it falls to the lot of courageous and honest people
+whose only guilt is their excess of love and the sense of
+righteousness-in such instances, conscience revolts. But the rope is
+still more horrible when it forms the noose around the necks of weak
+and ignorant people. And however strange it may appear, I look with a
+lesser grief and suffering upon the execution of the revolutionists,
+such as Werner and Musya, than upon the strangling of ignorant
+murderers, miserable in mind and heart, like Yanson and Tsiganok. Even
+the last mad horror of inevitably approaching execution Werner can
+offset by his enlightened mind and his iron will, and Musya, by her
+purity and her innocence. * * *
+
+But how are the weak and the sinful to face it if not in madness, with
+the most violent shock to the very foundation of their souls? And
+these people, now that the Government has steadied its hands through
+its experience with the revolutionists, are being hanged throughout
+Russia-in some places one at a time, in others, ten at once. Children
+at play come upon badly buried bodies, and the crowds which gather
+look with horror upon the peasants' boots that are sticking out of the
+ground; prosecutors who have witnessed these executions are becoming
+insane and are taken away to hospitals-while the people are being
+hanged-being hanged.
+
+I am deeply grateful to you for the task you have undertaken in
+translating this sad story. Knowing the sensitiveness of the American
+people, who at one time sent across the ocean, steamers full of bread
+for famine-stricken Russia, I am convinced that in this case our
+people in their misery and bitterness will also find understanding and
+sympathy. And if my truthful story about seven of the thousands who
+were hanged will help toward destroying at least one of the barriers
+which separate one nation from another, one human being from another,
+one soul from another soul, I shall consider myself happy.
+
+Respectfully yours,
+LEONID ANDREYEV.
+
+
+
+THE SEVEN WHO WERE HANGED
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+AT ONE O'CLOCK, YOUR EXCELLENCY!
+
+
+As the Minister was a very stout man, inclined to apoplexy, they
+feared to arouse in him any dangerous excitement, and it was with
+every possible precaution that they informed him that a very serious
+attempt upon his life had been planned. When they saw that he received
+the news calmly, even with a smile, they gave him, also, the details.
+The attempt was to be made on the following day at the time that he
+was to start out with his official report; several men, terrorists,
+plans had already been betrayed by a provocateur, and who were now
+under the vigilant surveillance of detectives, were to meet at one
+o'clock in the afternoon in front of his house, and, armed with bombs
+and revolvers, were to wait till he came out.  There the terrorists
+were to be trapped.
+
+"Wait!" muttered the Minister, perplexed. "How did they know that I
+was to leave the house at one o'clock in the afternoon with my report,
+when I myself learned of it only the day before yesterday?"
+
+The Chief of the Guards stretched out his arms with a shrug.
+
+"Exactly at one o'clock in the afternoon, your Excellency," he said.
+
+Half surprised, half commending the work of the police, who had
+managed everything skilfully, the Minister shook his head, a morose
+smile upon his thick, dark lips, and still smiling obediently, and not
+desiring to interfere with the plans of the police, he hastily made
+ready, and went out to pass the night in some one else's hospitable
+palace. His wife and his two children were also removed from the
+dangerous house, before which the bomb-throwers were to gather upon
+the following day.
+
+While the lights were burning in the palace, and courteous, familiar
+faces were bowing to him, smiling and expressing their concern, the
+dignitary experienced a sensation of pleasant excitement-he felt as if
+he had already received, or was soon to receive, some great and
+unexpected reward. But the people went away, the lights were
+extinguished, and through the mirrors, the lace-like and fantastic
+reflection of the electric lamps on the street, quivered across the
+ceiling and over the walls. A stranger in the house, with its
+paintings, its statues and its silence, the light-itself silent and
+indefinite-awakened painful thoughts in him as to the vanity of bolts
+and guards and walls. And then, in the dead of night, in the silence
+and solitude of a strange bedroom, a sensation of unbearable fear
+swept over the dignitary.
+
+He had some kidney trouble, and whenever he grew strongly agitated,
+his face, his hands and his feet became swollen. Now, rising like a
+mountain of bloated flesh above the taut springs of the bed, he felt,
+with the anguish of a sick man, his swollen face, which seemed to him
+to belong to some one else. Unceasingly he kept thinking of the cruel
+fate which people were preparing for him. He recalled, one after
+another, all the recent horrible instances of bombs that had been
+thrown at men of even greater eminence than himself; he recalled how
+the bombs had torn bodies to pieces, had spattered brains over dirty
+brick walls, had knocked teeth from their roots. And influenced by
+these meditations, it seemed to him that his own stout, sickly body,
+outspread on the bed, was already experiencing the fiery shock of the
+explosion. He seemed to be able to feel his arms being severed from
+the shoulders, his teeth knocked out, his brains scattered into
+particles, his feet growing numb, lying quietly, their toes upward,
+like those of a dead man. He stirred with an effort, breathed loudly
+and coughed in order not to seem to himself to resemble a corpse in
+any way. He encouraged himself with the live noise of the grating
+springs, of the rustling blanket; and to assure himself that he was
+actually alive and not dead, he uttered in a bass voice, loudly and
+abruptly, in the silence and solitude of the bedroom:
+
+"Molodtsi! Molodtsi! Molodtsi! (Good boys)!"
+
+He was praising the detectives, the police, and the soldiers-all those
+who guarded his life, and who so opportunely and so cleverly had
+averted the assassination. But even though he stirred, even though he
+praised his protectors, even though he forced an unnatural smile, in
+order to express his contempt for the foolish, unsuccessful
+terrorists, he nevertheless did not believe in his safety, he was not
+sure that his life would not leave him suddenly, at once. Death, which
+people had devised for him, and which was only in their minds, in
+their intention, seemed to him to be already standing there in the
+room. It seemed to him that Death would remain standing there, and
+would not go away until those people had been captured, until the
+bombs had been taken from them, until they had been placed in a strong
+prison. There Death was standing in the corner, and would not go
+away-it could not go away, even as an obedient sentinel stationed on
+guard by a superior's will and order.
+
+"At one o'clock in the afternoon, your Excellency!" this phrase kept
+ringing, changing its tone continually: now it was cheerfully mocking,
+now angry, now dull and obstinate. It sounded as if a hundred wound-up
+gramophones had been placed in his room, and all of them, one after
+another, were shouting with idiotic repetition the words they had been
+made to shout:
+
+"At one o'clock in the afternoon, your Excellency!"
+
+And suddenly, this one o'clock in the afternoon to-morrow, which but a
+short while ago was not in any way different from other hours, which
+was only a quiet movement of the hand along the dial of his gold
+watch, assumed an ominous finality, sprang out of the dial, began to
+live separately, stretched itself into an enormously huge black pole
+which cut all life in two. It seemed as if no other hours had existed
+before it and no other hours would exist after it-as if this hour
+alone, insolent and presumptuous, had a right to a certain peculiar
+existence.
+
+"Well, what do you want?" asked the Minister angrily, muttering
+between his teeth.
+
+The gramophone shouted:
+
+"At one o'clock in the afternoon, your Excellency!" and the black pole
+smiled and bowed. Gnashing his teeth, the Minister rose in his bed to
+a sitting posture, leaning his face on the palms of his hands-he
+positively could not sleep on that dreadful night.
+
+Clasping his face in his swollen, perfumed palms, he pictured to
+himself with horrifying clearness how on the following morning, not
+knowing anything of the plot against his life, he would have risen,
+would have drunk his coffee, not knowing anything, and then would have
+put on his coat in the hallway. And neither he, nor the doorkeeper who
+would have handed him his fur coat, nor the lackey who would have
+brought him the coffee, would have known that it was utterly useless
+to drink coffee, and to put on the coat, since a few instants later,
+everything- the fur coat and his body and the coffee within it-would
+be destroyed by an explosion, would be seized by death. The doorkeeper
+would have opened the glass door. ... He, the amiable, kind, gentle
+doorkeeper, with the blue, typical eyes of a soldier, and with medals
+across his breast- he himself with his own hands would have opened the
+terrible door, opened it because he knew nothing. Everybody would have
+smiled because they did not know anything. "Oho!" he suddenly said
+aloud, and slowly removed his hands from his face. Peering into the
+darkness, far ahead of him, with a fixed, strained look, he
+outstretched his hand just as slowly, felt the button on the wall and
+pressed it. Then he arose, and without putting on his slippers, walked
+in his bare feet over the rug in the strange, unfamiliar bedroom,
+found the button of another lamp upon the wall and pressed it. It
+became light and pleasant, and only the disarranged bed with the
+blanket, which had slipped off to the floor, spoke of the horror, not
+altogether past.
+
+In his night-clothes, with his beard disheveled by his restless
+movements, with his angry eyes, the dignitary resembled any other
+angry old man who suffered with insomnia and shortness of breath. It
+was as if the death which people were preparing for him, had made him
+bare, had torn away from him the magnificence and splendor which had
+surrounded him-and it was hard to believe that it was he who had so
+much power, that his body was but an ordinary plain human body that
+must have perished terribly in the flame and roar of a monstrous
+explosion. Without dressing himself and not feeling the cold, he sat
+down in the first armchair he found, stroking his disheveled beard,
+and fixed his eyes in deep, calm thoughtfulness upon the unfamiliar
+plaster figures of the ceiling.
+
+So that was the trouble! That was why he had trembled in fear and had
+become so agitated! That was why Death seemed to stand in the corner
+and would not go away, could not go away!
+
+"Fools!" he said emphatically, with contempt.
+
+"Fools!" he repeated more loudly, and turned his head slightly toward
+the door that those to whom he was referring might hear it. He was
+referring to those whom he had praised hut a moment before, who in the
+excess of their zeal had told him of the plot against his life.
+
+"Of course," he thought deeply, an easy, convincing idea arising in
+his mind. "Now that they have told me, I know, and feel terrified, but
+if I had not been told, I would not have known anything and would have
+drunk my coffee calmly. After that Death would have come-but then, am
+I so afraid of Death? Here have I been suffering with kidney trouble,
+and I must surely die from it some day, and yet I am not
+afraid-because I do not know anything. And those fools told me: 'At
+one o'clock in the afternoon, your Excellency!' and they thought I
+would be glad. But instead of that Death stationed itself in the
+corner and would not go away. It would not go away because it was my
+thought. It is not death that is terrible, but the knowledge of it: it
+would be utterly impossible to live if a man could know exactly and
+definitely the day and hour of his death. And the fools cautioned me:
+'At one o'clock in the afternoon, your Excellency!' "
+
+He began to feel light-hearted and cheerful, as if some one had told
+him that he was immortal, that he would never die. And, feeling
+himself again strong and wise amidst the herd of fools who had so
+stupidly and impudently broken into the mystery of the future, he
+began to think of the bliss of ignorance, and his thoughts were the
+painful thoughts of an old, sick man who had gone through endless
+experience. It was not given to any living being-man or beast -to know
+the day and hour of death. Here had he been ill not long ago and the
+physicians told him that he must expect the end, that he should make
+his final arrangements-but he had not believed them and he remained
+alive.  In his youth he had become entangled in an affair and had
+resolved to end his life; he had even loaded the revolver, had
+"written his letters, and had fixed upon 'the hour for suicide-but
+before the very end he had suddenly changed his mind.  It would always
+be thus-at the very last moment something would change,  an unexpected
+accident would befall-no one could tell when he would die.
+
+"At one o'clock in the afternoon, your Excellency!" those kind asses
+had said to him, and although they had told him of it only that death
+might he averted, the mere knowledge of its possibility at a certain
+hour again filled him with horror.  It was probable that some day he
+should be assassinated, but it would not happen to-morrow-it would not
+happen to-morrow-and he could sleep undisturbed, as if he were really
+immortal. Fools-they did not know what a great law they had dislodged,
+what an abyss they had opened, when they said in their idiotic
+kindness: "At one o'clock in the afternoon, your Excellency!"
+
+"No, not at one o'clock in the afternoon, your Excellency, but no one
+knows when. No one knows when! What?"
+
+"Nothing," answered Silence, "nothing."
+
+"But you did say something."
+
+"Nothing, nonsense. I say: to-morrow, at one o'clock in the
+afternoon!"
+
+There was a sudden, acute pain in his heart-and he understood that he
+would have neither sleep, nor peace, nor joy until that accursed black
+hour standing out of the dial should have passed. Only the shadow of
+the knowledge of something which no living being could know stood
+there in the corner, and that was enough to darken the world and
+envelop him with the impenetrable gloom of horror. The once disturbed
+fear of death diffused through his body, penetrated into his bones.
+
+He no longer feared the murderers of the next day-they had vanished,
+they had been forgotten, they had mingled with the crowd of hostile
+faces and incidents which surrounded his life. He now feared something
+sudden and inevitable-an apoplectic stroke, heart failure, some
+foolish thin little vessel which might suddenly fail to withstand the
+pressure of the blood and might burst like a tight glove upon swollen
+fingers.
+
+His short, thick neck seemed terrible to him. It became unbearable for
+him to look upon his short, swollen ringers-to feel how short they
+were and how they were filled with the moisture of death. And if
+before, when it was dark, he had had to stir in order not to resemble
+a corpse, now in the bright, cold, inimical, dreadful light he was so
+filled with horror that he could not move in order to get a cigarette
+or to ring for some one. His nerves were giving way. Each one of them
+seemed as if it were a bent wire, at the top of which there was a
+small head with mad, wide-open frightened eyes and a convulsively
+gaping, speechless mouth. He could not draw his breath.
+
+Suddenly in the darkness, amidst the dust and cobwebs somewhere upon
+the ceiling, an electric bell came to life. The small, metallic
+tongue, agitatedly, in terror, kept striking the edge of the ringing
+cap, became silent-and again quivered in an unceasing, frightened din.
+His Excellency was ringing his bell in his own room.
+
+People began to run. Here and there, in the shadows upon the walls,
+lamps flared up -there were not enough of them to give light, but
+there were enough to cast shadows. The shadows appeared everywhere;
+they rose in the corners, they stretched across the ceiling;
+tremulously clinging to each and every elevation, they covered the
+walls. And it was hard to understand where all these innumerable,
+deformed silent shadows- voiceless souls of voiceless objects-had been
+before.
+
+A deep, trembling voice said something loudly. Then the doctor was
+hastily summoned by telephone; the dignitary was collapsing. The wife
+of his Excellency was also called.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+CONDEMNED TO BE HANGED
+
+
+Everything befell as the police had foretold. Four terrorists, three
+men and a woman, armed with bombs, infernal machines and revolvers,
+were seized at the very entrance of the house, and another woman was
+later found and arrested in the house where the conspiracy had been
+hatched. She was its mistress. At the same time a great deal of
+dynamite and half finished bomb explosives were seized. All those
+arrested were very young; the eldest of the men was twenty-eight years
+old, the younger of the women was only nineteen. They were tried in
+the same fortress in which they were imprisoned after the arrest; they
+were tried swiftly and secretly, as was done during that unmerciful
+time.
+
+At the trial all of them were calm, but very serious and thoughtful.
+Their contempt for the judges was so intense that none of them wished
+to emphasize his daring by even a superfluous smile or by a feigned
+expression of cheerfulness. Each was simply as calm as was necessary
+to hedge in his soul, from curious, evil and inimical eyes, the great
+gloom that precedes death.
+
+Sometimes they refused to answer questions; sometimes they answered,
+briefly, simply and precisely, as though they were answering not the
+judge, but statisticians, for the purpose of supplying information for
+particular special tables. Three of them, one woman and two men, gave
+their real names, while two others refused and thus remained unknown
+to the judges.
+
+They manifested for all that was going on at the trial a certain
+curiosity, softened, as though through a haze, such as is peculiar to
+persons who are very ill or are carried away by some great,
+all-absorbing idea. They glanced up occasionally, caught some word in
+the air more interesting than the others, and then resumed the thought
+from which their attention had been distracted.
+
+The man who was nearest to the judges called himself Sergey Golovin,
+the son of a retired colonel, himself tin ex-officer. He was still a
+very young, light-haired, broad-shouldered man, so strong that neither
+the prison nor the expectation of inevitable death could remove the
+color from his cheeks and the expression of youthful, happy frankness
+from his blue eyes. He kept energetically tugging at his bushy, small
+beard, to which he had not become accustomed, and continually
+blinking, kept looking out of the window.
+
+It was toward the end of winter, when amidst the snowstorms and the
+gloomy, frosty days, the approaching spring sent as a forerunner a
+clear, warm, sunny day, or but an hour, yet so full of spring, so
+eagerly young and beaming that sparrows on the streets lost their wits
+for joy, and people seemed almost as intoxicated. And now the strange
+and beautiful sky could be seen through an upper window which was
+dust-covered and unwashed since the last summer. At first sight the
+sky seemed to be milky-gray-smoke-colored-but when you looked longer
+the dark blue color began to penetrate through the shade, grew into an
+ever deeper blue-ever brighter, ever more intense. And the fact that
+it did not reveal itself all at once, but hid itself chastely in the
+smoke of transparent clouds, made it as charming as the girl you love.
+And Sergey Golovin looked at the sky, tugged at his beard, blinked now
+one eye, now the other, with its long, curved lashes, earnestly
+pondering over something. Once he began to move his fingers rapidly
+and thoughtlessly, knitted his brow in some joy, but then he glanced
+about and his joy died out like a spark which is stepped upon. Almost
+instantly an earthen, deathly blue, without first changing into
+pallor, showed through the color of his cheeks. He clutched his downy
+hair, tore their roots painfully with his fingers, whose tips had
+turned white. But the joy of life and spring was stronger, and a few
+minutes later his frank young face was again yearning toward the
+spring sky. The young, pale girl, known only by the name of Musya, was
+also looking in the same direction, at the sky.  She was younger than
+Golovin, but she seemed older in her gravity and in the darkness of
+her open, proud eyes. Only her very thin, slender neck, and her
+delicate girlish hands spoke of her youth; but in addition there was
+that ineffable something, which  is  youth  itself,  and  which
+sounded so distinctly in her clear, melodious voice, tuned
+irreproachably like a precious instrument, every simple word, every
+exclamation giving evidence of its musical timbre. She was very pale,
+but it was not a deathly pallor, but that peculiar warm whiteness of a
+person within whom, as it were, a great, strong fire is burning, whose
+body  glows transparently  like fine Sevres porcelain. She sat almost
+motionless, and only at times she touched with an imperceptible
+movement of her fingers the circular mark on the middle finger of her
+right hand, the mark of a ring which had. been recently removed.
+
+She gazed at the sky without caressing kindness or joyous
+recollections-she looked at it simply because in all the filthy,
+official hall the blue bit of sky was the most beautiful, the purest,
+the most truthful object, and the only one that did not try to search
+hidden depths in her eyes.
+
+The judges pitied Sergey Golovin; her they despised.
+
+Her neighbor, known only by the name of Werner, sat also motionless,
+in a somewhat affected pose, his hands folded between his knees. If a
+face may be said to look like a false door, this unknown man closed
+his face like an iron door and bolted it with an iron lock. He stared
+motionlessly at the dirty wooden floor, and it was impossible to tell
+whether he was calm or whether he was intensely agitated, whether he
+was thinking of something, or whether he was listening to the
+testimony of the detectives as presented to the court. He was not tall
+in stature. His features were refined and delicate. Tender and
+handsome, so that he reminded you of a moonlit night in the South near
+the seashore, where the cypress trees throw their dark shadows, he at
+the same time gave the impression of tremendous, calm power, of
+invincible firmness, of cold and audacious courage. The very
+politeness with which he gave brief and precise answers seemed
+dangerous, on his lips, in his half bow. And if the prison garb looked
+upon the others like the ridiculous costume of a buffoon, upon him it
+was not noticeable, so foreign was it to his personality. And although
+the other terrorists had been seized with bombs and infernal machines
+upon them, and Werner had had but a black revolver, the judges for
+some reason regarded him as the leader of the others and treated him
+with a certain deference, although succinctly and in a business-like
+manner.
+
+The next man, Vasily Kashirin, was torn between a terrible, dominating
+fear of death and a desperate desire to restrain the fear and not
+betray it to the judges. From early morning, from the time they had
+been led into court, he had been suffocating from an intolerable
+palpitation of his heart. Perspiration came out in drops all along his
+forehead; his hands were also perspiring and cold, and his cold,
+sweat-covered shirt clung to his body, interfering with the freedom of
+his movements. With a supernatural effort of will-power he forced his
+fingers not to tremble, his voice to be firm and distinct, his eyes to
+be calm. He saw nothing about him; the voices came to him as through a
+mist, and it was to this mist that he made his desperate efforts to
+answer firmly, to answer loudly. But having answered, he immediately
+forgot question as well as answer, and was again struggling with
+himself silently and terribly. Death was disclosed in him so clearly
+that the judges avoided looking at him. It was hard to define his age,
+as is the case with a corpse which has begun to decompose. According
+to his passport, he was only twenty-three years old. Once or twice
+Werner quietly touched his knee with his hand, and each time Kashirin
+spoke shortly:
+
+"Nevermind!"
+
+The most terrible sensation was when he was suddenly seized with an
+insufferable desire to cry out, without words, the desperate cry of a
+beast. He touched Werner quickly, and Werner, without lifting his
+eyes, said softly:
+
+"Never mind, Vasya. It will soon be over."
+
+And embracing them all with a motherly, anxious look, the fifth
+terrorist, Tanya Kovalchuk, was faint with alarm. She had never had
+any children; she was still young and red-cheeked, just as Sergey
+Golovin, but she seemed as a mother to all of them: so full of
+anxiety, of boundless love were her looks, her smiles, her sighs. She
+paid not the slightest attention to the trial, regarding it as though
+it were something entirely irrelevant, and she listened only to the
+manner in which the others were answering the questions, to hear
+whether the voice was trembling, whether there was fear, whether it
+was necessary to give water to any one.
+
+She could not look at Vasya in her anguish and only wrung her fingers
+silently. At Musya and Werner she gazed proudly and respectfully, and
+she assumed a serious and concentrated expression, and then tried to
+transfer her smile to Sergey Golovin.
+
+"The dear boy is looking at the sky. Look, look, my darling!" she
+thought about Golovin.
+
+"And Vasya! What is it? My God, my God! What am I to do with him? If I
+should speak to him I might make it still worse. He might suddenly
+start to cry."
+
+So like a calm pond at dawn, reflecting every hastening, passing
+cloud, she reflected upon her full, gentle, kind face every swift
+sensation, every thought of the other four. She did not give a single
+thought to the fact that she, too, was upon trial, that she, too,
+would be hanged; she was entirely indifferent to it. It was in her
+house that the bombs and the dynamite had been discovered, and,
+strange though it may seem, it was she who had met the police with
+pistol-shots and had wounded one of the detectives in the head.
+
+The trial ended at about eight o'clock, when it had become dark.
+Before Musya's and Golovin's eyes the sky, which had been turning ever
+bluer, was gradually losing its tint, but it did not turn rosy, did
+not smile softly as in summer evenings, but became muddy, gray, and
+suddenly grew cold, wintry. Golovin heaved a sigh, stretched himself,
+glanced again twice at the window, but the cold darkness of the night
+alone was there; then continuing to tug at his short beard, he began
+to examine with childish curiosity the judges, the soldiers with their
+muskets, and he smiled at Tanya Kovalchuk. When the sky had darkened
+Musya calmly, without lowering her eyes to the ground, turned them to
+the corner where a small cobweb was quivering from the imperceptible
+radiations of the steam heat, and thus she remained until the sentence
+was pronounced.
+
+After the verdict, having bidden good-by to their frock-coated
+lawyers, and evading each other's helplessly confused, pitying and
+guilty eyes, the convicted terrorists crowded in the doorway for a
+moment and exchanged brief words.
+
+"Never mind, Vasya. Everything will be over soon," said Werner.
+
+"I am all right, brother," Kashirin replied loudly, calmly and even
+somewhat cheerfully. And indeed, his face had turned slightly rosy,
+and no longer looked like that of a decomposing corpse.
+
+"The devil take them; they've hanged us," Golovin cursed quaintly.
+
+"That was to be expected," replied Werner calmly.
+
+"To-morrow the sentence will be pronounced in its final form and we
+shall all be placed together," said Tanya Kovalchuk consolingly.
+"Until the execution we shall all he together."
+
+Musya was silent. Then she resolutely moved forward.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+WHY SHOULD I BE HANGED?
+
+
+Two weeks before the terrorists had been tried the same military
+district court, with a different set of judges, had tried and
+condemned to death by hanging Ivan Yanson, a peasant.
+
+Ivan Yanson was a workman for a well-to-do farmer, in no way different
+from other workmen. He was an Esthonian by birth, from Vezenberg, and
+in the course of several years, passing from one farm to another, he
+had come close to the capital. He spoke Russian very poorly, and as
+his master was a Russian, by name Lazarev, and as there were no
+Esthonians in the neighborhood, Yanson had practically remained silent
+for almost two years. In general, he was apparently not inclined to
+talk, and was silent not only with human beings, but even with
+animals. He would water the horse in silence, harness it in silence,
+moving about it, slowly and lazily, with short, irresolute steps, and
+when the horse, annoyed by his manner, would begin to frolic, to
+become capricious, he would beat it in silence with a heavy whip. He
+would beat it cruelly, with stolid, angry persistency, and when this
+happened at a time when he was suffering from the aftereffects of a
+carouse, he would work himself into & frenzy. At such times the crack
+of the whip could be heard in the house, with the frightened, painful
+pounding of the horse's hoofs upon the board floor of the barn. For
+beating the horse his master would beat Yanson, but then, finding that
+he could not be reformed, paid no more attention to him.
+
+Once or twice a month Yanson became intoxicated, usually on those days
+when he took his master to the large railroad station, where there was
+a refreshment bar. After leaving his master at the station, he would
+drive off about half a verst away, and there, stalling the sled and
+the horse in the snow on the side of the road, he would wait until the
+train had gone. The sled would stand sideways, almost overturned, the
+horse standing with widely spread legs up to his belly in a snowbank,
+from time to time lowering his head to lick the soft, downy snow,
+while Yanson would recline in an awkward position in the sled as if
+dozing away. The unfastened ear-lappets of his worn fur cap would hang
+down like the ears of a setter, and the moist sweat would stand under
+his little reddish nose.
+
+Soon he would return to the station, and would quickly become
+intoxicated.
+
+On his way back to the farm, the whole ten versts, he would drive at a
+fast gallop. The little horse, driven to madness by the whip, would
+rear, as if possessed by a demon; the sled would sway, almost
+overturn, striking against poles, and Yanson, letting the reins go,
+would half sing, half exclaim abrupt, meaningless phrases in
+Esthonian. But more often he would not sing, but with his teeth
+gritted together in an onrush of unspeakable rage, suffering and
+delight, he would drive silently on as though blind. He would not
+notice those who passed him, he would not call to them to look out, he
+would not slacken his mad pace, either at the turns of the road or on
+the long slopes of the mountain roads. How it happened at such times
+that he crushed no one, how he himself was never dashed to death in
+one of these mad rides, was inexplicable.
+
+He would have been driven from this place, as he had been driven from
+other places, but he was cheap and other workmen were not better, and
+thus he remained there two years. His life was uneventful. One day he
+received a letter, written in Esthonian, but as he himself was
+illiterate, and as the others did not understand Esthonian, the letter
+remained unread; and as if not understanding that the letter might
+bring him tidings from his native home, he flung it into the manure
+with a certain savage, grim indifference. At one time Yanson tried to
+make love to the cook, but he was not successful, and was rudely
+rejected and ridiculed. He was short in stature, his face was
+freckled, and his small, sleepy eyes were somewhat of an indefinite
+color. Yanson took his failure indifferently, and never again bothered
+the cook.
+
+But while Yanson spoke but little, he was listening to something all
+the time. He heard the sounds of the dismal, snow-covered fields, with
+their heaps of frozen manure resembling rows of small, snow-covered
+graves, the sounds of the blue, tender distance, of the buzzing
+telegraph wires, and the conversation of other people. What the fields
+and telegraph wires spoke to him he alone knew, and the conversation
+of the people were disquieting, full of rumors about murders and
+robberies and arson. And one night he heard in the neighboring village
+the little church bell ringing faintly and helplessly, and the
+crackling of the flames of a fire. Some vagabonds had plundered a rich
+farm, had killed the master and his wife, and had set fire to the
+house.
+
+And on their farm, too, they lived in fear; the dogs were loose, not
+only at night, but also during the day, and the master slept with a
+gun by his side. He wished to give such a gun to Yanson, only it was
+an old one with one barrel. But Yanson turned the gun about in his
+hand, shook his head and declined it. His master did not understand
+the reason and scolded him, but the reason was that Yanson had more
+faith in the power of his Finnish knife than in the rusty gun.
+
+"It would kill me," he said, looking at his master sleepily with his
+glassy eyes, and the master waved his hand in despair.
+
+"You fool! Think of having to live with such workmen!"
+
+And this same Ivan Yanson, who distrusted a gun, one winter evening,
+when the other workmen had been sent away to the station, committed a
+very complicated attempt at robbery, murder and rape. He did it in a
+surprisingly simple manner. He locked the cook in the kitchen, lazily,
+with the air of a man who is longing to sleep, walked over to his
+master from behind and swiftly stabbed him several times in the back
+with his knife. The master fell unconscious, and the mistress began to
+run about, screaming, while Yanson, showing his teeth and brandishing
+his knife, began to ransack the trunks and the chests of drawers. He
+found the money he sought, and then, as if noticing the mistress for
+the first time, and as though unexpectedly even to himself, he rushed
+upon her in order to violate her. But as he had let his knife drop to
+the floor, the mistress proved stronger than he, and not only did not
+allow him to harm her, but almost choked him into unconsciousness.
+Then the master on the floor turned, the cook thundered upon the door
+with the oven-fork, breaking it open, and Yanson ran away into the
+fields. He was caught an hour later, kneeling down behind the corner
+of the barn, striking one match after another, which would not ignite,
+in an attempt to set the place on fire.
+
+A few days later the master died of blood poisoning, and Yanson, when
+his turn among other robbers and murderers came, was tried and
+condemned to death. In court he was the same as always; a little man,
+freckled, with sleepy, glassy eyes. It seemed as if he did not
+understand in the least the meaning of what was going on about him; he
+appeared to be entirely indifferent. He blinked his white eyelashes,
+stupidly, without curiosity; examined the sombre, unfamiliar
+courtroom, and picked his nose with his hard, shriveled, unbending
+finger. Only those who had seen him on Sundays at church would have
+known that he had made an attempt to adorn himself. He wore on his
+neck a knitted, muddy-red shawl, and in places had dampened the hair
+of his head. Where the hair was wet it lay dark and smooth, while on
+the other side it stuck up in light and sparse tufts, like straws upon
+a hail-beaten, wasted meadow.
+
+When the sentence was pronounced- death by hanging-Yanson suddenly
+became agitated. He reddened deeply and began to tie and untie the
+shawl about his neck as though it were choking him. Then he waved his
+arms stupidly and said, turning to the judge who had not read the
+sentence, and pointing with his finger at the judge who read it:
+
+"He said that I should be hanged."
+
+"Who do you mean?" asked the presiding judge, who had pronounced the
+sentence in a deep, bass voice. Every one smiled; some tried to hide
+their smiles behind their mustaches and their papers. Yanson pointed
+his index finger at the presiding judge and answered angrily, looking
+at him askance:
+
+"You!"
+
+"Well?"
+
+Yanson again turned his eyes to the judge who had been silent,
+restraining a smile, whom he felt to be a friend, a man who had
+nothing to do with the sentence, and repeated:
+
+"He said I should be hanged. Why must I be hanged?"
+
+"Take the prisoner away."
+
+But Yanson succeeded in repeating once more, convincingly and
+weightily:
+
+"Why must I be hanged?"
+
+He looked so absurd, with his small, angry face, with his outstretched
+finger, that even the soldier of the convoy, breaking the rule, said
+to him in an undertone as he led him away from the courtroom:
+
+"You are a fool, young man!"
+
+"Why must I be hanged?" repeated Yanson stubbornly.
+
+"They'll swing you up so quickly that you'll have no time to kick."
+
+"Keep still 1" cried the other convoy angrily. But he himself could
+not refrain from adding:
+
+"A robber, too! Why did you take a human life, you fool? You must hang
+for that!"
+
+"They might pardon him," said the first soldier, who began to feel
+sorry for Yanson.
+
+"Oh, yes! They'll pardon people like him, will they? Well, we've
+talked enough."
+
+But Yanson had become silent again.
+
+He was again placed in the cell in which he had already sat for a
+month and to which he had grown accustomed, just as he had become
+accustomed to everything: to blows, to vodka, to the dismal,
+snow-covered fields, with their snow-heaps resembling graves.
+
+And now he even began to feel cheerful when he saw his bed, the
+familiar window with the grating, and when he was given something to
+eat-he had not eaten anything since morning. He had an unpleasant
+recollection of what had taken place in the court, but of that he
+could not think-he was unable to recall it. And death by hanging he
+could not picture to himself at all.
+
+Although Yanson had been condemned to death, there were many others
+similarly sentenced, and he was not regarded as an important criminal.
+They spoke to him accordingly, with neither fear nor respect, just as
+they would speak to prisoners who were not to be executed. The warden,
+on learning of the verdict, said to him:
+
+"Well, my friend, they've hanged you!"
+
+"When are they going to hang me?" asked Yanson distrustfully. The
+warden meditated a moment.
+
+"Well, you'll have to wait-until they can get together a whole party.
+It isn't worth bothering for one man, especially for a man like you.
+It is necessary to work up the right spirit."
+
+"And when will that be?" persisted Yanson. He was not at all offended
+that it was not worth while to hang him alone. He did not believe it,
+but considered it as an excuse for postponing the execution,
+preparatory to revoking it altogether. And he was seized with joy; the
+confused, terrible moment, of which it was so painful to think,
+retreated far into the distance, becoming fictitious and improbable,
+as death always seems.
+
+"When? When?" cried the warden, a dull, morose old man, growing angry.
+"It isn't like hanging a dog, which you take behind the barn-and it is
+done in no time. I suppose you would like to be hanged like that, you
+fool!"
+
+"I don't want to be hanged," and suddenly Yanson frowned strangely.
+"He said that I should be hanged, but I don't want it."
+
+And perhaps for the first time in his life he laughed, a hoarse,
+absurd, yet gay and joyous laughter. It sounded like the cackling of a
+goose, Ga-ga-ga! The warden looked at him in astonishment, then knit
+his brow sternly. This strange gayety of a man who was to be executed
+was an offence to the prison, as well as to the very executioner; it
+made them appear absurd. And suddenly, for the briefest instant, it
+appeared to the old warden, who had passed all his life in the prison,
+and who looked upon its laws as the laws of nature, that the prison
+and all the life within it was something like an insane asylum, in
+which he, the warden, was the chief lunatic.
+
+"Pshaw! The devil take you!" and he spat aside. "Why are you giggling
+here? This is no dramshop!"
+
+"And I don't want to be hanged-gaga-ga!" laughed Yanson.
+
+"Satan!" muttered the inspector, feeling the need of making the sign
+of the cross.
+
+This little man, with his small, wizened face-he resembled least of
+all the devil- but there was that in his silly giggling which
+destroyed the sanctity and the strength of the prison. If he laughed
+longer, it seemed to the warden as if the walls might fall asunder,
+the grating melt and drop out, as if the warden himself might lead the
+prisoners to the gates, bowing and saying: "Take a walk in the city,
+gentlemen; or perhaps some of you would like to go to the village?"
+
+"Satan!"
+
+But Yanson had stopped laughing, and was now winking cunningly.
+
+"You had better look out!" said the warden, with an indefinite threat,
+and he walked away, glancing back of him.
+
+Yanson was calm and cheerful throughout the evening. He repeated to
+himself, "I shall not be hanged," and it seemed to him so convincing,
+so wise, so irrefutable, that it was unnecessary to feel uneasy. He
+had long forgotten about his crime, only sometimes he regretted that
+he had not been successful in attacking his master's wife. But he soon
+forgot that, too.
+
+Every morning Yanson asked when he was to be hanged, and every morning
+the warden answered him angrily:
+
+"Take your time, you devil!  Wait!" and he would walk off quickly
+before Yanson could begin to laugh.
+
+And from these monotonously repeated words, and from the fact that
+each day came, passed and ended as every ordinary day had passed,
+Yanson became convinced that there would be no execution.  He began to
+lose all memory of the trial, and would roll about all day long on his
+cot, vaguely and happily dreaming about the white melancholy fields,
+with their snow-mounds, about the refreshment bar at the railroad
+station, and about other things still more vague  and bright. He was
+well fed in the prison, and somehow he began to grow stout rapidly and
+to assume airs.
+
+"Now she would have liked me," he thought of his master's wife. "Now I
+am stout-not worse-looking than the master." But he longed for a drink
+of vodka, to drink and to take a ride on horseback, to ride fast,
+madly.
+
+When the terrorists were arrested the news of it reached the prison.
+And in answer to Yanson's usual question, the warden said eagerly and
+unexpectedly:
+
+"It won't be long now!"
+
+He looked at Yanson calmly with an air of importance and repeated:
+
+"It won't be long now. I suppose in about a week."
+
+Yanson turned pale, and as though falling asleep, so turbid was the
+look in his glassy eyes, asked:
+
+"Are you joking?"
+
+"First you could not wait, and now you think I am joking. We are not
+allowed to joke here. You like to joke, but we are not allowed to,"
+said the warden with dignity as he went away.
+
+Toward evening of that day Yanson had already grown thinner. His skin,
+which had stretched out and had become smooth for a time, was suddenly
+covered with a multitude of small wrinkles, and in places it seemed
+even to hang down. His eyes became sleepy, and all his motions were
+now so slow and languid as though each turn of the head, each move of
+the fingers, each step of the foot were a complicated and cumbersome
+undertaking which required very careful deliberation. At night he lay
+on his cot, but did not close his eyes, and thus, heavy with sleep,
+they remained open until morning.
+
+"Aha!" said the warden with satisfaction, seeing him on the following
+day. "This is no dramshop for you, my dear!"
+
+With a feeling of pleasant gratification, like a scientist whose
+experiment had proved successful again, he examined the condemned man
+closely and carefully from head to foot. Now everything would go along
+as necessary. Satan was disgraced, the sacredness of the prison and
+the execution was re-established, and the old man inquired
+condescendingly, even with a feeling of sincere pity:
+
+"Do you want to meet somebody or not?"
+
+"What for?"
+
+"Well, to say good-by! Have you no mother, for instance, or a
+brother?"
+
+"I must not be hanged," said Yanson softly, and looked askance at the
+warden. "I don't want to be hanged."
+
+The warden looked at him and waved his hand in silence.
+
+Toward evening Yanson grew somewhat calmer.
+
+The day had been so ordinary, the cloudy winter sky looked so
+ordinary, the footsteps of people and their conversation on matters of
+business sounded so ordinary, the smell of the sour soup of cabbage
+was so ordinary, customary and natural that he again ceased believing
+in the execution. But the night became terrible to him. Before this
+Yanson had felt the night simply as darkness, as an especially dark
+time, when it was necessary to go to sleep, but now he began to be
+aware of its mysterious and uncanny nature. In order not to believe in
+death, it was necessary to hear and see and feel ordinary things about
+him, footsteps, voices, light, the soup of sour cabbage. But in the
+dark everything was unnatural; the silence and the darkness were in
+themselves something like death.
+
+And the longer the night dragged the more dreadful it became. With the
+ignorant innocence of a child or a savage, who believe everything
+possible, Yanson felt like crying to the sun: "Shine!" He begged, he
+implored that the sun should shine, but the night drew its long, dark
+hours remorselessly over the earth, and there was no power that could
+hasten its course. And this impossibility, arising for the first time
+before the weak consciousness of Yanson, filled him with terror. Still
+not daring to realize it clearly, he already felt the inevitability of
+approaching death, and felt himself making the first step upon the
+gallows, with benumbed feet.
+
+Day quieted him, but night again filled him with fear, and so it was
+until one night when he realized fully that death was inevitable, that
+it would come in three days at dawn with the sunrise.
+
+He had never thought of what death was, and it had no image to him-but
+now he realized clearly, he saw, he felt that it had entered his cell
+and was looking for him, groping about with its hands. And to save
+himself, he began to run wildly about the room.
+
+But the cell was so small that it seemed that its corners were not
+sharp but dull, and that all of them were pushing him into the center
+of the room. And there was nothing behind which to hide. And the door
+was locked. And it was dark. Several times he struck his body against
+the walls, making no sound, and once he struck against the door- it
+gave forth a dull, empty sound. He stumbled over something and fell
+upon his face, and then he felt that IT was going to seize him. Lying
+on his stomach, holding to the floor, hiding his face in the dark,
+dirty asphalt, Yanson howled in terror. He lay; and cried at the top
+of his voice until some one came. And when he was lifted from the
+floor and seated upon the cot, and cold water was poured over his
+head, he still did not dare open his tightly closed eyes. He opened
+one eye, and noticing some one's boot in one of the corners of the
+room, he commenced crying again.
+
+But the cold water began to produce its effect in bringing him to his
+senses. To help the effect, the warden on duty, the same old man,
+administered medicine to Yanson in the form of several blows upon the
+head. And this sensation of life returning to him really drove the
+fear of death away. Yanson opened his eyes, and then, his mind utterly
+confused, he slept soundly for the remainder of the night. He lay on
+his hack, with mouth open, and snored loudly, and between his lashes,
+which were not tightly closed, his flat, dead eyes, which were
+upturned so that the pupil did not show, could be seen.
+
+Later, everything in the world - day and night, footsteps, voices, the
+soup of sour cabbage, produced in him a continuous terror, plunging
+him into a state of savage uncomprehending astonishment. His weak mind
+was unable to combine these two things which so monstrously
+contradicted each other - the bright day, the odor and taste of
+cabbage - and the fact that two days later he must die. He did not
+think of anything. He did not even count the hours, but simply stood
+in mute stupefaction before this contradiction which tore his brain in
+two. And he became evenly pale, neither white nor redder in parts, and
+appeared to be calm. Only he ate nothing and ceased sleeping
+altogether. He sat all night long on a stool, his legs crossed under
+him, in fright. Or he walked about in his cell, quietly, stealthily,
+and sleepily looking about him on all sides. His mouth was half-open
+all the time, as though from incessant astonishment, and before taking
+the most ordinary thing into his hands, he would examine it stupidly
+for a long time, and would take it distrustfully.
+
+When he became thus, the wardens as well as the sentinel who watched
+him through the little window, ceased paying further attention to him.
+This was the customary condition of prisoners, and reminded the
+wardens of cattle being led to slaughter after a staggering blow.
+
+"Now he is stunned, now he will feel nothing until his very death,"
+said the warden, looking at him with experienced eyes. "Ivan! Do you
+hear? Ivan!"
+
+"I must not be hanged," answered Yanson, in a dull voice, and his
+lower jaw again drooped.
+
+"You should not have committed murder. You would not be hanged then,"
+answered the chief warden, a young but very important-looking man with
+medals on his chest. "You committed murder, yet you do not want to be
+hanged?"
+
+"He wants to kill human beings without paying for it. Fool! fool!"
+said another.
+
+"I don't want to be hanged," said Yanson.
+
+"Well, my friend, you may want it or not, that's your affair," replied
+the chief warden indifferently. "Instead of talking nonsense, you had
+better arrange your affairs. You still have something."
+
+"He has nothing. One shirt and a suit of clothes. And a fur cap! A
+sport!"
+
+Thus time passed until Thursday. And on Thursday, at midnight a number
+of people entered Yanson's cell, and one man, with shoulder-straps,
+said:
+
+"Well, get ready.  We must go."
+
+Yanson, moving slowly and drowsily as before, put on everything he had
+and tied his muddy-red muffler about his neck. The man with
+shoulder-straps, smoking a cigarette, said to some one while watching
+Yanson dress:
+
+"What a warm day this will be. Real spring."
+
+Yanson's small eyes were closing; he seemed to be falling asleep, and
+he moved so slowly and stiffly that the warden cried to him:
+
+"Hey, there! Quicker! Have you fallen asleep?"
+
+Suddenly Yanson stopped.
+
+"I don't want to be hanged," said he.
+
+He was taken by the arms and led away, and began to stride obediently,
+raising his shoulders. Outside he found himself in the moist, spring
+air, and beads of sweat stood under his little nose. Notwithstanding
+that it was night, it was thawing very strongly and drops of water
+were dripping upon the stones. And waiting while the soldiers,
+clanking their sabres and bending their heads, were stepping into the
+unlighted black carriage, Yanson lazily moved his finger under his
+moist nose and adjusted the badly tied muffler about his neck,
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+WE COME FROM ORYOL
+
+
+The same council-chamber of the military district court which had
+condemned Yanson had also condemned to death a peasant of the
+Government of Oryol, of the District of Yeletzk, Mikhail Golubets,
+nicknamed Tsiganok, also Tatarin. His latest crime, proven beyond
+question, had been the murder of three people and armed robbery.
+Behind that, his dark past disappeared in a depth of mystery. There
+were vague rumors that he had participated in a series of other
+murders and robberies, and in his path there was felt to be a dark
+trail of blood, fire, and drunken debauchery. He called himself
+murderer with utter frankness and sincerity, and scornfully regarded
+those who, according to the latest fashion, styled themselves
+"expropriators." Of his last crime, since it was useless for him to
+deny anything, he spoke freely and in detail, but in answer to
+questions about his past, he merely gritted his teeth, whistled, and
+said:
+
+"Search for the wind of the fields!"
+
+When he was annoyed in cross-examination, Tsiganok assumed a serious
+and dignified air:
+
+"All of us from Oryol are thoroughbreds," he would say gravely and
+deliberately. "Oryol and Kroma are the homes of first-class thieves.
+Karachev and Livna are the breeding-places of thieves. And Yeletz-is
+the parent of all thieves. Now-what else is there to say?"
+
+He was nicknamed Tsiganok (gypsy) because of his appearance and his
+thievish manner. He was black-haired, lean, with yellow spots on his
+prominent, "Tartar-like cheek-bones. His glance was swift, brief, but
+fearfully direct and searching, and the thing upon which he looked for
+a moment seemed to lose something, seemed to deliver up to him a part
+of itself, and to become something else. It was just as unpleasant and
+repugnant to take a cigarette at which he looked, as though it had
+already been in his mouth. There was a certain constant restlessness
+in him, now twisting him like a rag, now throwing him about like a
+body of coiling live wires. And he drank water almost by the bucket.
+
+To all questions during the trial he answered shortly, firmly, jumping
+up quickly, and at times he seemed to answer even with pleasure.
+
+"Correct!" he would say.
+
+Sometimes he emphasized it.
+
+"Cor-r-rect!"
+
+At one time, suddenly, when they were speaking of something that would
+hardly have seemed to suggest it, he jumped to his feet and asked the
+presiding judge:
+
+"Will you allow me to whistle?"
+
+"What for?" asked the judge, surprised.
+
+"They said that I gave the signal to my comrades. I would like to show
+you how. It is very interesting."
+
+The judge consented, somewhat wonderingly. Tsiganok quickly placed
+four fingers in his mouth, two fingers of each hand, rolled his eyes
+fiercely-and then the dead air of the courtroom was suddenly rent by a
+real, wild, murderer's whistle-at which frightened horses leap and
+rear on their hind legs and human faces involuntarily blanch. The
+mortal anguish of him who is to be assassinated, the wild joy of the
+murderer, the dreadful warning, the call, the gloom and loneliness of
+a stormy autumn night-all this rang in his piercing shriek, which was
+neither human nor beastly.
+
+The presiding officer shouted - then waved his arm at Tsiganok, and
+Tsiganok obediently became silent. And, like an artist who had
+triumphantly performed a difficult aria, he sat down, wiped his wet
+fingers upon his coat, and surveyed those present with an air of
+satisfaction.
+
+"What a robber!" said one of the judges, rubbing his ear.
+
+Another one, however, with a wild Russian beard, but with the eyes of
+a Tartar, like those of Tsiganok, gazed pensively above Tsiganok's
+head, then smiled and remarked:
+
+"It is indeed interesting."
+
+With light hearts, without mercy, without the slightest pangs of
+conscience, the judges brought out against Tsiganok a verdict of
+death.
+
+"Correct!" said Tsiganok, when the verdict was pronounced. "In the
+open field and on a cross-beam! Correct!"
+
+And turning to the convoy, he hurled with bravado:
+
+"Well, are we not going? Come on, you sour-coat. And hold your gun-I
+might take it away from you!"
+
+The soldier looked at him sternly, with fear, exchanged glances with
+his comrade, and felt the lock of his gun. The other did the same. And
+all the way to the prison the soldiers felt that they were not walking
+but flying through the air-as if hypnotized by the prisoner, they felt
+neither the ground beneath their feet, nor the passage of time, nor
+themselves.
+
+Mishka Tsiganok, like Yanson, had had to spend seventeen days in
+prison before his execution. And all seventeen days passed as though
+they were one day-they were bound up in one inextinguishable thought
+of escape, of freedom, of life. The restlessness of Tsiganok, which
+was now repressed by the walls and the bars and the dead window
+through which nothing could be seen, turned all its fury upon himself
+and burned his soul like coals scattered upon boards. As though he
+were in a drunken vapor, bright but incomplete images swarmed upon
+him, failing and then becoming confused, and then again rushing
+through his mind in an unrestrainable blinding whirlwind-and all were
+bent toward escape, toward liberty, toward life. With his nostrils
+expanded, like those of a horse, Tsiganok smelt the air for hours
+long--it seemed to him that he could smell the odor of hemp, of the
+smoke of fire-the colorless and biting smell of burning. Now he
+whirled about in the room like a top, touching the walls, tapping them
+nervously with his fingers from time to time, taking aim, boring the
+ceiling with his gaze, filing the prison bars. By his restlessness, he
+had tired out the soldiers who watched him through the little window,
+and who, several times, in despair, had threatened to shoot. Tsiganok
+would retort, coarsely and derisively, and the quarrel would end
+peacefully because the dispute would soon turn into boorish,
+unoffending abuse, after which shooting would have seemed absurd and
+impossible.
+
+Tsiganok slept during the nights soundly, without stirring, in
+unchanging yet live motionlessness, like a wire spring in temporary
+inactivity. But as soon as he arose, he immediately commenced to walk,
+to plan, to grope about. His hands were always dry and hot, but his
+heart at times would suddenly grow cold, as if a cake of unmelting ice
+had been placed upon his chest, sending a slight, dry shiver through
+his whole body. At such times, Tsiganok, always dark in complexion,
+would turn black, assuming the shade of bluish cast-iron. And he
+acquired a curious habit; as though he had eaten too much of something
+sickeningly sweet, he kept licking his lips, smacking them, and would
+spit on the floor, hissingly, through his teeth. When he spoke, he did
+not finish his words, so rapidly did his thoughts run that his tongue
+was unable to compass them.
+
+One day the chief warden, accompanied by a soldier, entered his cell.
+He looked askance at the floor and said gruffly:
+
+"Look!  How dirty he has made it!"
+
+Tsiganok retorted quickly:
+
+"You've made the whole world dirty, you fat-face, and yet I haven't
+said anything to you. What brings you here?"
+
+The warden, speaking as gruffly as before, asked him whether he would
+act as executioner. Tsiganok burst out laughing, showing his teeth.
+
+"You can't find any one else? That's good! Go ahead, hang! Ha! ha! ha!
+The necks are there, the rope is there, but there is nobody to string
+it up. By God! that's good!"
+
+"You'll save your neck if you do it."
+
+"Of course-I couldn't hang them if I were dead. Well said, you fool!"
+
+"Well, what do you say? Is it all the same to you?"
+
+"And how do you hang them here? I suppose they're choked on the sly."
+
+"No, with music," snarled the warden.
+
+"Well, what a fool! Of course it can be done with music. This way!"
+and he began to sing, with a bold and daring swing.
+
+"You have lost your wits, my friend," said the warden. "What do you
+say? Speak sensibly."
+
+Tsiganok grinned.
+
+"How eager you are! Come another time and I'll tell you."
+
+After that, into that chaos of bright, yet incomplete images which
+oppressed Tsiganok by their impetuosity, a new image came -how good it
+would be to become a hangman in a red shirt. He pictured to himself
+vividly a square crowded with people, a high scaffold, and he,
+Tsiganok, in a red shirt walking about upon the scaffold with an ax.
+The sun shone overhead, gaily flashing from the ax, and everything was
+so gay and bright that even the man whose head was soon to be chopped
+off was smiling. And behind the crowd, wagons and the heads of horses
+could be seen-the peasants had come from the village; and beyond them,
+further, he could see the village itself.
+
+"Ts-akh!"
+
+Tsiganok smacked his lips, licking them, and spat. And suddenly he
+felt as though a fur cap had been pushed over his head to his very
+mouth-it became black and stifling, and his heart again became like a
+cake of unmelting ice, sending a slight, dry shiver through his whole
+body.
+
+The warden came in twice again, and Tsiganok, showing his teeth, said:
+
+"How eager you are!  Come in again!"
+
+Finally one day the warden shouted through the casement window as he
+passed rapidly:
+
+"You've let your chance slip by, you fool! We've found somebody else."
+
+"The devil take you! Hang yourself!" snarled Tsiganok, and he stopped
+dreaming of the execution.
+
+But toward the end, the nearer he approached the time, the weight of
+the fragments of his broken images became unbearable. Tsiganok now
+felt like standing still, like spreading his legs and standing-but a
+whirling current of thoughts carried him away and there was nothing at
+which he could clutch-everything about him swam. And his sleep also
+became uneasy. Dreams even more violent than his thoughts appeared
+-new dreams, solid, heavy, like wooden painted blocks. And it was no
+longer like a current, but like an endless fall to an endless depth, a
+whirling flight through the whole visible world of colors.
+
+When Tsiganok was free he had worn only a pair of dashing mustaches,
+but in the prison a short, black, bristly beard grew on his face and
+it made him look fearsome, insane. At times Tsiganok really lost his
+senses and whirled absurdly about in the cell, still tapping upon the
+rough, plastered walls nervously. And he drank water like a horse.
+
+At times toward evening when they lit the lamp, Tsiganok would stand
+on all fours in the middle of his cell and would howl the quivering
+howl of a wolf. He was peculiarly serious while doing it, and would
+howl as though he were performing an important and indispensable act.
+He would fill his chest with air and then exhale it. slowly in a
+prolonged tremulous howl, and, cocking his eyes, would listen intently
+as the sound issued forth. And the very quiver in his voice seemed in
+a manner intentional. He did not scream wildly, but drew out each note
+carefully in that mournful wail full of untold sorrow and terror.
+
+Then he would suddenly break off howling and for several minutes would
+remain silent, still standing on all fours. Then suddenly he would
+mutter softly, staring at the ground:
+
+"My darlings, my sweethearts! . . . My darlings, my sweethearts! have
+pity. . . . My darlings! . . . My sweethearts!"
+
+And it seemed again as if he were listening intently to his own voice.
+As he said each word he would listen.
+
+Then he would jump up and for a whole hour would curse continually.
+
+He cursed picturesquely, shouting and rolling his blood-shot eyes.
+
+"If you hang me-hang me!" and he would burst out cursing again.
+
+And the sentinel, in the meantime white as chalk, weeping with pain
+and fright, would knock at the door with the butt-end of the gun and
+cry helplessly:
+
+"I'll fire! I'll kill you as sure as I live! Do you hear?"
+
+But he dared not shoot. If there was no actual rebellion they never
+fired at those who had been condemned to death. And Tsiganok would
+gnash his teeth, would curse and spit. His brain thus racked on a
+monstrously sharp blade between life and death was falling to pieces
+like a lump of dry clay.
+
+When they entered the cell at midnight to lead Tsiganok to the
+execution he began to bustle about and seemed to have recovered his
+spirits. Again he had that sweet taste in his mouth, and his saliva
+collected abundantly, but his cheeks turned rosy and in his eyes began
+to glisten his former somewhat savage slyness. Dressing himself he
+asked the official:
+
+"Who is going to do the hanging? Anew man? I suppose he hasn't learned
+his job yet."
+
+"You needn't worry about it," answered the official dryly.
+
+"I can't help worrying, your Honor. I am going to be hanged, not you.
+At least don't be stingy with the government's soap on the noose."
+
+"All right, all right!  Keep quiet!"
+
+"This man here has eaten all your soap," said Tsiganok, pointing to
+the warden. "See how his face shines."
+
+"Silence!"
+
+"Don't be stingy!"
+
+And Tsiganok burst out laughing. But he began to feel that it was
+getting ever sweeter in his mouth, and suddenly his legs began to feel
+strangely numb. Still, on coming out into the yard, he managed to
+exclaim:
+
+"The carriage of the Count of Bengal!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+KISS-AND SAY NOTHING
+
+
+The verdict concerning the five terrorists was pronounced finally and
+confirmed upon the same day.  The condemned were not told when the
+execution would take place, but they knew from the usual procedure
+that they would he hanged the same night, or, at the very latest, upon
+the following night. And when it was proposed to them that they meet
+their  relatives upon  the  following Thursday they understood that
+the execution would take place on Friday at dawn.
+
+Tanya Kovalchuk had no near relatives, and those whom she had were
+somewhere in the wilderness in Little Russia and it was not likely
+that they even knew of the trial or of the coming execution. Musya and
+Werner, as unidentified people, were not supposed to have relatives,
+and only two, Sergey Golovin and Vasily Kashirin, were to meet their
+parents. Both of them looked upon that meeting with terror and
+anguish, yet they dared not refuse the old people the last word, the
+last kiss.
+
+Sergey Golovin was particularly tortured by the thought of the coming
+meeting. He dearly loved his father and mother; he had seen them but a
+short while before, and now he was in a state of terror as to what
+would happen when they came to see him. The execution itself, in all
+its monstrous horror, in its brain-stunning madness, he could imagine
+more easily, and it seemed less terrible than these other few moments
+of meeting, brief and unsatisfactory, which seemed to reach beyond
+time, beyond life itself. How to look, what to think, what to say, his
+mind could not determine. The most simple and ordinary act, to take
+his father by the hand, to kiss him, and to say, "How do you do,
+father?" seemed to him unspeakably horrible in its monstrous, inhuman,
+absurd deceitfulness.
+
+After the sentence the condemned were not placed together in one cell,
+as Tanya Kovalchuk had supposed they  would  be, but each was put in
+solitary confinement, and all the morning, until eleven o'clock, when
+his parents came,  Sergey Golovin paced his cell furiously, tugged at
+his beard, frowned pitiably and muttered inaudibly. Sometimes he would
+stop abruptly, would breathe deeply and then exhale like a man who has
+been too long under water.  But he was so healthy, his young life was
+so strong within him, that even in the moments of most painful
+suffering his blood played under his skin, reddening his cheeks, and
+his blue eyes shone brightly and frankly.
+
+But everything was far different from what he had anticipated.
+
+Nikolay Sergeyevich Golovin, Sergey's father, a retired colonel, was
+the first to enter the room where the meeting took place. He was all
+white-his face, his beard, his hair, and his hands-as if he were a
+snow statue attired in man's clothes He had on the same old but
+well-cleaned coat, smelling of benzine, with new shoulder-straps
+crosswise, that he had always worn, and he entered firmly, with an air
+of stateliness, with strong and steady steps. He stretched out his
+white, thin hand and said loudly:
+
+"How do you do, Sergey?"
+
+Behind him Sergey's mother entered with short steps, smiling
+strangely. But she also pressed his hands and repeated loudly:
+
+"How do you do, Seryozhenka?"
+
+She kissed him on the lips and sat down silently. She did not rush
+over to him; she did not burst into tears; she did not break into a
+sob; she did not do any of the terrible things which Sergey had
+feared. She just kissed him and silently sat down. And with her
+trembling hands she even adjusted her black silk dress.
+
+Sergey did not know that the colonel, having locked himself all the
+previous night in his little study, had deliberated upon this ritual
+with all his power. "We must not aggravate, but ease the last moments
+of our son," resolved the colonel firmly, and he carefully weighed
+every possible phase of the conversation, every act and movement that
+might take place on the following day. But somehow he became confused,
+forgetting what he had prepared, and he wept bitterly in the corner of
+the oilcloth-covered couch. In the morning he explained to his wife
+how she should behave at the meeting.
+
+"The main thing is, kiss-and say nothing!" he taught her. "Later you
+may speak-after a while-but when you kiss him, be silent. Don't speak
+right after the kiss, do you understand? Or you will say what you
+should not say."
+
+"I understand, Nikolay Sergeyevich," answered the mother, weeping.
+
+"And you must not weep. For God's sake, do not weep! You will kill him
+if you weep, old woman!"
+
+"Why do you weep?"
+
+"With women one cannot help weeping. But you must not weep, do you
+hear?"
+
+"Very well, Nikolay Sergeyevich."
+
+Riding in the drozhky, he had intended to school her in the
+instructions again, but he forgot. And so they rode in silence, bent,
+both gray and old, and they were lost in thought, while the city was
+gay and noisy. It was Shrovetide, and the streets were crowded.
+
+They sat down. Then the colonel stood up, assumed a studied pose,
+placing his right hand upon the border of his coat. Sergey sat for an
+instant, looked closely upon the wrinkled face of his mother and then
+jumped up.
+
+"Be seated, Seryozhenka," begged the mother.
+
+"Sit down, Sergey," repeated the father.
+
+They became silent.  The mother smiled.
+
+"How we have petitioned for you, Seryozhenka! Father--''
+
+"You should not have done that, mother----"
+
+The colonel spoke firmly:
+
+"We had to do it, Sergey, so that you should not think your parents
+had forsaken you."
+
+They became silent again. It was terrible for them to utter even a
+word, as though each word in the language had lost its individual
+meaning and meant but one thing- Death. Sergey looked at his father's
+coat, which smelt of benzine, and thought: "They have no servant now,
+consequently he must have cleaned it himself. How is it that I never
+before noticed when he cleaned his coat? I suppose he does it in the
+morning." Suddenly he asked:
+
+"And how is sister?  Is she well?" "Ninochka does not know anything,"
+the mother answered hastily.
+
+The colonel interrupted her sternly: "Why should you tell a falsehood?
+The child read it in the newspapers. Let Sergey know that
+everybody-that those who are dearest to him-were thinking of him-at
+this time-and--"
+
+He could not say any more and stopped. Suddenly the mother's face
+contracted, then it spread out, became agitated, wet and wild-looking.
+Her discolored eyes stared blindly, and her breathing became more
+frequent, and briefer, louder.
+
+"Se - Se - Se-Ser --" she repeated without moving her lips.  "Ser--"
+
+"Dear mother!"
+
+The colonel strode forward, and all quivering in every fold of his
+coat, in every wrinkle of his face, not understanding how terrible he
+himself looked in his death-like whiteness, in his heroic, desperate
+firmness. He said to his wife:
+
+"Be silent! Don't torture him! Don't torture him! He has to die! Don't
+torture him!"
+
+Frightened, she had already become silent, but he still shook his
+clenched fists before him and repeated:
+
+"Don't torture him!"
+
+Then he stepped back", placed his trembling hands behind his back, and
+loudly, with an expression of forced calm, asked with pale lips:
+
+"When?"
+
+"To-morrow morning," answered Sergey, his lips also pale.
+
+The mother looked at the ground, chewing her lips, as if she did not
+hear anything. And continuing to chew, she uttered these simple words,
+strangely, as though they dropped like lead:
+
+"Ninochka told me to kiss you, Seryozhenka."
+
+"Kiss her for me," said Sergey.
+
+"Very well. The Khvostovs send you their regards."
+
+"Which Khvostovs? Oh, yes!"
+
+The colonel interrupted:
+
+"Well, we must go. Get up, mother; we must go." The two men lifted the
+weakened old woman.
+
+"Bid him good-by!" ordered the colonel. "Make the sign of the cross."
+
+She did everything as she was told. But as she made the sign of the
+cross, and kissed her son a brief kiss, she shook her head and
+murmured weakly:
+
+"No, it isn't the right way! It is not the right way! What will I say?
+How will I say it? No, it is not the right way!"
+
+"Good-by, Sergey!" said the father. They shook hands, and kissed each
+other quickly but heartily.
+
+"You--" began Sergey.
+
+"Well?" asked the father abruptly.
+
+"No, no! It is not the right way! How shall I say it?" repeated the
+mother weakly, nodding her head. She had sat down again and was
+rocking herself back and forth.
+
+"You--" Sergey began again. Suddenly his face wrinkled pitiably,
+childishly, and his eyes filled with tears immediately. Through the
+sparkling gleams of his tears he looked closely into the white face of
+his father, whose eyes had also filled.
+
+"You, father, are a noble man!"
+
+"What is that? What are you saying?" said the colonel, surprised. And
+then suddenly, as if broken in two, he fell with his head upon his
+son's shoulder. He had been taller than Sergey, but now he became
+short, and his dry, downy head lay like a white ball upon his son's
+shoulder. And they kissed silently and passionately: Sergey kissed the
+silvery white hair, and the old man kissed the prisoner's garb.
+
+"And I?" suddenly said a loud voice.
+
+They looked around.   Sergey's mother
+
+92
+
+The Seven
+
+was standing, her head thrown back, looking at them angrily, almost
+with contempt.
+
+"What is it, mother?" cried the colonel.
+
+"And I?" she said, shaking her head with insane intensity. "You
+kiss-and I? You men! Yes? And I? And I?"
+
+"Mother!"  Sergey rushed over to her.
+
+What took place then it is unnecessary and impossible to describe. . .
+.
+
+The last words of the colonel were:
+
+"I give you my blessing for your death, Seryozha. Die bravely, like an
+officer."
+
+And they went away. Somehow they went away. They had been there, they
+had stood, they had spoken-and suddenly they had gone. Here sat his
+mother, there stood his father-and suddenly somehow they had gone
+away. Returning to the cell, Sergey lay down on the cot, his face
+turned toward the wall, in order to hide it from the soldiers, and he
+wept for a long time. Then, exhausted by his tears, he slept soundly.
+
+To Vasily Kashirin only his mother came. His father, who was a wealthy
+tradesman, did not want to come. Vasily met the old woman, as he was
+pacing up and down the room, trembling with cold, although it was
+warm, even hot. And the conversation was brief, painful.
+
+"It wasn't worth coming, mother. You'll only torture yourself and me."
+
+"Why did you do it, Vasya? Why did you do it? Oh, Lord!" The old woman
+burst out weeping, wiping her face with the ends of her black, woolen
+kerchief. And with the habit which he and his brothers had always had
+of crying at their mother, who did not understand anything, he
+stopped, and, shuddering as with cold, spoke angrily:
+
+"There! You see! I knew it! You understand nothing, mother! Nothing!"
+
+"Well-well-all right! Do you feel- cold?"
+
+"Cold!" Vasily answered bluntly, and again began to pace the room,
+looking at his mother askance, as if annoyed.
+
+"Perhaps you have caught cold?"
+
+"Oh, mother what is a cold, when--" and he waved his hand helplessly.
+
+The old woman was about to say: "And your father ordered wheat cakes
+beginning with Monday," but she was frightened, and said:
+
+"I told him: 'It is your son, you should go, give him your blessing.'
+No, the old beast persisted--"
+
+"Let him go to the devil! What sort of father has he been to me? He
+has been a scoundrel all his life, and remains a scoundrel!"
+
+"Vasenka! Do you speak of your father like this?" said the old woman
+reproachfully, straightening herself.
+
+"About my father!"
+
+"About your own father?"
+
+"He is no father to me!"
+
+It was strange and absurd. Before him was the thought of death, while
+here something small, empty and trivial arose, and his words cracked
+like the shells of nuts under foot. And almost crying with
+sorrow-because of the eternal misunderstanding which all his life long
+had stood like a wall between him and those nearest to him, and which
+even now, in the last hour before death, peered at him stupidly and
+strangely through small, widely opened eyes-Vasily exclaimed:
+
+"Don't you understand that I am to be hanged soon? Hanged! Do you
+understand it? Hanged!"
+
+"You shouldn't have harmed anybody and nobody would---" cried the old
+woman.
+
+"My God! What is this? Even beasts do not act like this! Am I not your
+son?"
+
+He began to cry, and seated himself in a corner. The old woman also
+burst out crying in her corner. Powerless, even for an instant, to
+blend in a feeling of love and to offset by it the horror of impending
+death, they wept their cold tears of loneliness which did not warm
+their hearts. The mother said:
+
+"You ask whether I am a mother to you? You reproach me! And I have
+grown completely gray during these days. I have become an old woman.
+And yet you say-you reproach me!"
+
+"Well, mother, it is all right.  Forgive me. It is time for you to go.
+Kiss my brothers for me."
+
+"Am I not your mother? Do I not feel sorry?"
+
+At last she went away. She wept bitterly, wiping her face with the
+edges of her kerchief, and she did not see the road. And the farther
+she got from the prison the more bitterly she wept. She retraced her
+steps to the prison, and then she strangely lost her way in the city
+in which she had been born, in which she lived to her old age. She
+strolled into a deserted little garden with a few old, gnarled trees,
+and she seated herself upon a wet bench, from which the snow had
+melted.
+
+And suddenly she understood. He was to be hanged upon the morrow!
+
+The old woman jumped up, about to run, but suddenly her head began to
+swim terribly and she fell to the ground. The icy path was wet and
+slippery, and she could not rise. She turned about, lifted herself on
+her elbows and knelt, then fell back on her side. The black kerchief
+had slipped down, baring upon the back of her head a bald spot amid
+her muddy-gray hair; and then somehow it seemed to her that she was
+feasting at a wedding, that her son was getting married, and she had
+been drinking wine and had become intoxicated.
+
+"I can't! My God! I can't!" she cried, as though declining something.
+Swaying her head, she crawled over the wet, frozen crust, and all the
+time it seemed to her that they were pouring out more wine for her,
+more wine!
+
+And her heart had already begun to pain her from her intoxicated
+laughter, from the rejoicing, from the wild dancing-and they kept on
+pouring more wine for her-pouring more wine!
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+THE HOURS ARE RUSHING
+
+
+On the fortress where the condemned terrorists were imprisoned there
+was a steeple with an old-fashioned clock upon it. At every hour, at
+every half-hour, and at every quarter-hour the clock rang out in
+long-drawn, mournful chimes, slowly melting high in the air, like the
+distant and plaintive call of migrating birds. In the daytime, this
+strange and sad music was lost in the noise of the city, of the wide
+and crowded street which passed near the fortress. The cars buzzed
+along, the hoofs of the horses beat upon the pavements, the rocking
+automobiles honked in the distance, peasant izvozchiks had come
+especially from the outskirts of the city for the Shrovetide season
+and the tinkling of the bells upon the necks of their little horses
+filled the air. The prattle of voices-an intoxicated, merry Shrovetide
+prattle of voices arose everywhere. And in the midst of these various
+noises there was the young thawing spring, the muddy pools on the
+meadows, the trees of the squares which had suddenly become black.
+>From the sea a warm breeze was blowing in broad, moist gusts. It was
+almost as if one could have seen the tiny fresh particles of air
+carried away, merged into the free, endless expanse of the
+atmosphere-could have heard them laughing in their flight.
+
+At night the street grew quiet in the lonely light of the large,
+electric sun. And then, the enormous fortress, within whose walls
+there was not a single light, passed into darkness and silence,
+separating itself from the ever living, stirring city by a wall of
+silence, motionlessness and darkness. Then it was that the strokes of
+the clock became audible. A strange melody, foreign to earth, was
+slowly and mournfully born and died out up in the heights. It was born
+again; deceiving the ear, it rang plaintively and softly-it broke
+off-and rang again. Like large, transparent, glassy drops, hours and
+minutes descended from an unknown height into a metallic, softly
+resounding bell.
+
+This was the only sound that reached the cells, by day and night,
+where the condemned remained in solitary confinement. Through the
+roof, through the thickness of the stone walls, it penetrated,
+stirring the silence-it passed unnoticed, to return again, also
+unnoticed. Sometimes they awaited it in despair, living from one sound
+to the next, trusting the silence no longer. Only important criminals
+were sent to this prison. There were special rules there, stern, grim
+and severe, like the corner of the fortress wall, and if there be
+nobility in cruelty, then the dull, dead, solemnly mute silence, which
+caught the slightest rustle and breathing, was noble.
+
+And in this solemn silence, broken by the mournful tolling of the
+departing minutes, separated from all that lives, five human beings,
+two women and three men, waited for the advent of night, of dawn and
+the execution, and all of them prepared for it, each in his or her own
+way.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+THERE IS NO DEATH
+
+
+Just as Tanya Kovalchuk had thought all her life only of others and
+never of herself, so now she suffered and grieved painfully, but only
+for her comrades. She pictured death, only as awaiting them, as
+something tormenting only to Sergey Golovin, to Musya, to the
+others-as for herself, it did not concern her.
+
+As a recompense for her firmness and restraint in the courtroom she
+wept for long hours, as old women who have experienced great misery,
+or as very sympathetic and kind-hearted young people know how to weep.
+And the fear that perhaps Seryozha was without tobacco or Werner
+without the strong tea to which he was accustomed, in addition to the
+fact that they were to die, caused her no less pain than the idea of
+the execution itself. Death was something inevitable and even
+unimportant, of which it was not worth while to think; but for a man
+in prison, before his execution, to be left without tobacco-that was
+altogether unbearable. She recalled and went over in her mind all the
+pleasant details of their life together, and then she grew faint with
+fear when she pictured to herself the meeting between Sergey and his
+parents.
+
+She felt particularly sorry for Musya. It had long seemed to her that
+Musya loved Werner, and although this was not a fact, she still
+dreamed of something good and bright for both of them. When she had
+been free, Musya had worn a silver ring, on which was the design of a
+skull, bones, and a crown of thorns about them. Tanya Kovalchuk had
+often looked upon the ring as a symbol of doom, and she would ask
+Musya, now in jest, now in earnest, to remove the ring.
+
+"Make me a present of it," she had begged.
+
+"No, Tanechka, I will not give it to you.
+
+But perhaps you will soon have another ring upon your finger."
+
+For some reason or other they all in turn had thought that she would
+doubtless soon marry, and this had offended her-she wanted no husband.
+And recalling these half-jesting conversations with Musya, and the
+fact that now Musya was actually condemned to death, she choked with
+tears in her maternal pity. And each time the clock struck she raised
+her tear-stained face and listened-how were they in the other cells
+receiving this drawn-out, persistent call of death?
+
+But Musya was happy.
+
+With her hands folded behind her back, dressed in a prisoner's garb
+which was much too large for her, and which made her look very much
+like a man-like a stripling dressed in some one else's clothes-she
+paced her cell evenly and tirelessly. The sleeves of the coat were too
+long for her, and she turned them up, and her thin, almost childish,
+emaciated hands peeped out of the wide holes like a beautiful flower
+out of a coarse earthen jug. The rough material of the coat rubbed her
+thin white neck, and sometimes Musya would free her throat with both
+hands and would cautiously feel the spot where the irritated skin was
+red and smarted.
+
+Musya paced the cell, and, blushing in agitation, she imagined that
+she was justifying herself before the people. She tried to justify
+herself for the fact that she, who was so young, so insignificant, who
+had done so little, and who was not at all a heroine, was yet to
+undergo the same honorable and beautiful death by which real heroes
+and martyrs had died before her. With unshakable faith in human
+kindness, in their compassion, in their love, she pictured to herself
+how people were now agitated on her account, how they suffered, how
+they pitied her, and she felt so ashamed that she blushed, as if, by
+dying upon the scaffold, she had committed some tremendous, awkward
+blunder.
+
+At the last meeting with their counsel she had asked him to bring her
+poison, but suddenly she had changed her mind. What if he and the
+others, she thought, should consider that she was doing it merely to
+become conspicuous, or out of cowardice, that instead of dying
+modestly and unnoticed, she was attempting to glorify herself. And she
+added hastily:
+
+"No, it isn't necessary."
+
+And now she desired but one thing-to be able to explain to people, to
+prove to them so that they should have not the slightest doubt that
+she was not at all a heroine, that it was not terrible to die, that
+they should not feel sorry for her, nor trouble themselves about her.
+She wished to be able to explain to them that she was not at all to
+blame that she, who was so young and so insignificant, was to undergo
+such a martyr's death, and that so much trouble should be made on her
+account.
+
+Like a person who is actually accused of a crime, Musya sought
+justification. She endeavored to find something that would at least
+make her sacrifice more momentous, which might give it real value. She
+reasoned:
+
+"Of course, I am young and could have lived for a long time. But--"
+
+And as a candle darkens in the glare of the rising sun, so her youth
+and her life seemed dull and dark compared to that great and
+resplendent radiance which would shine above her simple head. There
+was no justification.
+
+But perhaps that peculiar something which she bore in her
+soul-boundless love, boundless eagerness to do great deeds, her
+boundless contempt for herself-was a justification in itself. She felt
+that she was really not to blame that she was hindered from doing the
+things she could have done, which she had wished to do-that she had
+been smitten upon the threshold of the temple, at the foot of the
+altar.
+
+But if that were so, if a person is appreciated not only for what he
+has done, but also for what he had intended to do-then-then she was
+worthy of the crown of the martyr!
+
+"Is it possible?" thought Musya bashfully. "Is it possible that I am
+worthy of it? That I deserve that people should weep for me, should be
+agitated over my fate, over such a little and insignificant girl?"
+
+And she was seized with sudden joy. There were no doubts, no
+hesitations-she was received into their midst-she entered justified
+the ranks of those noble people who always ascend to heaven through
+fires, tortures and executions. Bright peace and tranquillity and
+endless, calmly radiant happiness! It was as if she had already
+departed from earth and was nearing the unknown sun of truth and life,
+and was in-corporeally soaring in its light.
+
+"And that is-Death? That is not Death!" thought Musya blissfully.
+
+And if scientists, philosophers and hangmen from the world over should
+come to her cell, spreading before her books, scalpels, axes and
+nooses, and were to attempt to prove to her that Death existed, that a
+human being dies and is killed, that there is no immortality, they
+would only surprise her. How could there be no deathlessness, since
+she was already deathless? Of what other deathlessness, of what other
+death, could there be a question, since she was already dead and
+immortal, alive in death, as she had been dead in life?
+
+And if a coffin were brought into her cell with her own decomposing
+body in it, and she were told:
+
+"Look!  That is you!"
+
+She would look and would answer:
+
+"No, it is not I."
+
+And if they should attempt to convince her, frightening her by the
+ominous sight of her own decomposed body, that it was she -she, Musya,
+would answer with a smile:
+
+"No. You think that it is I, but it isn't. I am the one you are
+speaking to; how can I be the other one?"
+
+"But you will die and become like that."
+
+"No, I will not die."
+
+"You will be executed. Here is the noose."
+
+"I will be executed, but I will not die. How can I die, when I am
+already-now- immortal?"
+
+And the scientists and philosophers and hangmen would retreat,
+speaking -with a shudder:
+
+"Do not touch this place. It is holy." What else was Musya thinking
+about? She was thinking of many things, for to her the thread of life
+was not broken by Death, but kept winding along calmly and evenly. She
+thought of her comrades, of those who were far away, and who in pain
+and sorrow were living through the execution together with them, and
+of those near by who were to mount the scaffold with her. She was
+surprised at Vasily-that he should have been so disturbed-he, who had
+always been so brave, and who had jested with Death. Thus, only on
+Tuesday morning, when all together they had attached explosive
+projectiles to their belts, which several hours later were to tear
+them into pieces, Tanya Kovalchuk's hands had trembled with
+nervousness, and it had become necessary to put her aside, while
+Vasily jested, made merry, turned about, and was even so reckless that
+Werner had said sternly:
+
+"You must not be too familiar with Death."
+
+What was he afraid of now? But this incomprehensible fear was so
+foreign to Musya's soul that she ceased searching for the cause of
+it-and suddenly she was seized with a desperate desire to see Seryozha
+Golovin, to laugh with him. She meditated a little while, and then an
+even more desperate desire came over her to see Werner and to convince
+him of something. And imagining to herself that Werner was in the next
+cell, driving his heels into the ground with his distinct, measured
+steps, Musya spoke, as if addressing him:
+
+"No, Werner, my dear; it is all nonsense; it isn't at all important
+whether or not you are killed. You are a sensible man, but you seem to
+be playing chess, and that by taking one figure after another the game
+is won. The important thing, Werner, is that we ourselves are ready to
+die. Do you understand? What do those people think? That there is
+nothing more terrible than death. They themselves have invented Death,
+they are themselves afraid of it, and they try to frighten us with it.
+I should like to do this- I should like to go out alone before a whole
+regiment of soldiers and fire upon them with a revolver. It would not
+matter that I would be alone, while they would be thousands, or that I
+might not kill any of them. It is that which is important-that they
+are thousands. When thousands kill one, it means that the one has
+conquered. That is true, Werner, my dear. . . ."
+
+But this, too, became so clear to her that she did not feel like
+arguing further- Werner must understand it himself. Perhaps her mind
+simply did not want to stop at one thought-just as a bird that soars
+with ease, which sees endless horizons, and to which all space, all
+the depth, all the joy of the soft and caressing azure are accessible.
+The bell of the clock rang unceasingly, disturbing the deep silence.
+And into this harmonious, remote, beautiful sound the thoughts of the
+people flowed, and also began to ring for her; and the smoothly
+gliding images turned into music. It was just as if, on a quiet, dark
+night, Musya was riding along a broad, even road, while the easy
+springs of the carriage rocked her and the little bells tinkled. All
+alarm and agitation had passed, the fatigued body had dissolved in the
+darkness, and her joyously wearied fancy calmly created bright images,
+carried away by their color and their peaceful tranquillity. Musya
+recalled three of her comrades who had been hanged but a short time
+before, and their faces seemed bright and happy and near to her-nearer
+than those in life. Thus does a man think with joy in the morning of
+the house of his friends where he is to go in the evening, and a
+greeting rises to his smiling lips,
+
+Musya became very tired from walking. She lay down cautiously on the
+cot and continued to dream with slightly closed eyes. The clock-bell
+rang unceasingly, stirring the mute silence, and bright, singing
+images floated calmly before her. Musya thought:
+
+"Is it possible that this is Death? My God! How beautiful it is! Or is
+it Life? I do not know. I do not know. I will look and listen."
+
+Her hearing had long given way to her imagination-from the first
+moment of her imprisonment. Inclined to be very musical, her ear had
+become keen in the silence, and on this background of silence, out of
+the meagre bits of reality, the footsteps of the guards in the
+corridors, the ringing of the clock, the rustling of the wind on the
+iron roof, the creaking of the lantern-it created complete musical
+pictures. At first Musya was afraid of them, brushed them away from
+her as if they were the hallucinations of a sickly mind. But later she
+understood that she herself was well, and that this was no derangement
+of any kind-and she gave herself up to the dreams calmly.
+
+And now, suddenly, she seemed to hear clearly and distinctly the
+sounds of military music. In astonishment, she opened her eyes, lifted
+her head-outside the window was black night, and the clock was
+striking. "Again," she thought calmly, and closed her eyes. And as
+soon as she did so the music resounded anew. She could hear distinctly
+how the soldiers, a whole regiment, were coming from behind the corner
+of the fortress, on the right, and now they were passing her window.
+Their feet beat time with measured steps upon the frozen ground:
+One-two! One-two! She could even hear at times the leather of the
+boots creaking, how suddenly some one's foot slipped and immediately
+recovered its steps. And the music came ever nearer-it was an entirely
+unfamiliar but a very loud and spirited holiday march. Evidently there
+was some sort of celebration in the fortress.
+
+Now the band came up alongside of her window and the cell was filled
+with merry, rhythmic, harmoniously blended sounds. One large brass
+trumpet brayed harshly out of tune, now too late, now comically
+running ahead-Musya could almost see the little soldier playing it, a
+great expression of earnestness on his face-and she laughed.
+
+Then everything moved away. The footsteps died out-One-two! One-two!
+At a distance the music sounded still more beautiful and cheerful. The
+trumpet resounded now and then with its merry, loud brass voice, out
+of tune,-and then everything died away. And the clock on the tower
+struck again, slowly, mournfully, hardly stirring the silence.
+
+"They are gone!" thought Musya, with a feeling of slight sadness. She
+felt sorry for the departing sounds, which had been so cheerful and so
+comical. She was even sorry for the departed little soldiers, because
+those busy soldiers, with their brass trumpets and their creaking
+boots, were of an entirely different sort, not at all like those at
+whom she had felt like firing a revolver.
+
+"Come again!" she begged tenderly. And more came. The figures bent
+over her, they surrounded her in a transparent cloud and lifted her
+up, where the migrating birds were soaring and screaming, like
+heralds. On the right of her, on the left, above and below her -they
+screamed like heralds. They called, they announced from afar their
+flight. They flapped their wide wings and the darkness supported them,
+even as the light had supported them. And on their convex breasts,
+cleaving the air asunder, the city far below reflected a blue light.
+Musya's heart beat ever more evenly, her breathing grew ever more calm
+and quiet. She was falling asleep. Her face looked fatigued and pale.
+Beneath her eyes were dark circles, her girlish, emaciated hands
+seemed so thin,-but upon her lips was a smile. To-morrow, with the
+rise of the sun, this human face would be distorted with an inhuman
+grimace, her brain would be covered with thick blood, and her eyes
+would bulge from their sockets and look glassy,-but now she slept
+quietly and smiled in her great immortality.
+
+Musya fell asleep.
+
+And the life of the prison went on, deaf and sensitive, blind and
+sharp-sighted, like eternal alarm itself. Somewhere people were
+walking. Somewhere people were whispering. A gun clanked. It seemed as
+if some one shouted. Perhaps no one shouted at all-perhaps it merely
+seemed so in the silence.
+
+The little casement window in the door opened noiselessly. A dark,
+mustached face appeared in the black hole. For a long time it stared
+at Musya in astonishment-and then disappeared as noiselessly as it had
+appeared.
+
+The bells rang and sang, for a long time, painfully. It seemed as if
+the tired Hours were climbing up a high mountain toward midnight, and
+that it was becoming ever harder and harder to ascend. They fall, they
+slip, they slide down with a groan-and then again, they climb
+painfully toward the black height.
+
+Somewhere people were walking. Somewhere people were whispering. And
+they were already harnessing the horses to the black carriages without
+lanterns.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+THERE IS DEATH  AS WELL AS LIFE
+
+
+Sergey Golovin never thought of death, as though it were something not
+to be considered, something that did not concern him in the least. He
+was a strong, healthy, cheerful youth, endowed with that calm, clear
+joy of living which causes every evil thought and feeling that might
+injure life to disappear from the organism without leaving any trace.
+Just as all cuts, wounds and stings on his body healed rapidly, so all
+that weighed upon his soul and wounded it immediately rose to the
+surface and disappeared. And he brought into every work, even into his
+enjoyments, the same calm and optimistic seriousness,-it mattered not
+whether he was occupied with photography, with bicycling or with
+preparations for a terroristic act. Everything in life was joyous,
+everything in life was important, everything should be done well.
+
+And he did everything well: he was an excellent sailor, an expert shot
+with the revolver. He was as faithful in friendship as in love, and a
+fanatic believer in the "word of honor." His comrades laughed at him,
+saying that if the most notorious spy told him upon his word of honor
+that he was not a spy, Sergey would believe him and would shake hands
+with him as with any comrade. He had one fault,-he was convinced that
+he could sing well, whereas in fact he had no ear for music and even
+sang the revolutionary songs out of tune, and felt offended when his
+friends laughed at him.
+
+"Either you are all asses, or I am an ass," he would declare seriously
+and even angrily. And all his friends as seriously declared: "You are
+an ass. We can tell by your voice."
+
+But, as is sometimes the case with good people, he was perhaps liked
+more for this little foible than for his good qualities.
+
+He feared death so little and thought of it so little that on the
+fatal morning, before leaving the house of Tanya Kovalchuk, he was the
+only one who had breakfasted properly, with an appetite. He drank two
+glasses of tea with milk, and a whole five-copeck roll of bread. Then
+he glanced at Werner's untouched bread and said:
+
+"Why don't you eat? Eat. We must brace up."
+
+"I don't feel like eating."
+
+"Then I'll eat it.  May I?"
+
+"You have a fine appetite, Seryozha."
+
+Instead of answering, Sergey, his mouth full, began to sing in a dull
+voice, out of tune:
+
+"Hostile whirlwinds are blowing over us ..."
+
+After the arrest he at first grew sad; the work had not been done
+well, they had failed; but then he thought: "There is something else
+now that must be done well-and that is, to die," and he cheered up
+again. And however strange it may seem, beginning with the second
+morning in the fortress, he commenced devoting himself to gymnastics
+according to the unusually rational system of a certain German named
+Mueller, which absorbed his interest. He undressed himself completely
+and, to the alarm and astonishment of the guard who watched him, he
+carefully went through all the prescribed eighteen exercises. The fact
+that the guard watched him and was apparently astonished, pleased him
+as a propagandist of the Mueller system; and although he knew that he
+would get no answer he nevertheless spoke to the eye staring in the
+little window:
+
+"It's a good system, my friend, it braces you up. It should be
+introduced in your regiment," he shouted convincingly and kindly, so
+as not to frighten the soldier, not suspecting that the guard
+considered him a harmless lunatic.
+
+The fear of death came over him gradually. It was as if somebody were
+striking his heart a powerful blow with the fist from below. This
+sensation was rather painful than terrible. Then the sensation was
+forgotten, but it returned again a few hours later, and each time it
+grew more intense and of longer duration, and thus it began to assume
+vague outlines of some great, even unbearable fear.
+
+"Is it possible that I am afraid?" thought Sergey in astonishment.
+"What nonsense!"
+
+It was not he who was afraid,-it was his young, sound, strong body,
+which could not be deceived either by the exercises prescribed by the
+Mueller system, or by the cold rub-downs. On the contrary, the
+stronger and the fresher his body became after the cold water, the
+keener and the more unbearable became the sensations of his recurrent
+fear. And just at those moments when, during his freedom, he had felt
+a special influx of the joy and power of life,-in the mornings after
+he had slept soundly and gone through his physical exercises,-now
+there appeared this deadening fear which was so foreign to his nature.
+He noticed this and thought:
+
+"It is foolish, Sergey! To die more easily, you should weaken the body
+and not strengthen it. It is foolish!"
+
+So he dropped his gymnastics and the rub-downs. To the soldier he
+shouted, as if to explain and justify himself:
+
+"Never mind that I have stopped. It's a good thing, my friend,-but not
+for those who are to be hanged. But it's very good for all others."
+
+And, indeed, he began to feel somewhat better. He tried also to eat
+less, so as to grow still weaker, but notwithstanding the lack of pure
+air and exercises, his appetite was very good,-it was difficult for
+him to control it, and he ate everything that was brought to him. Then
+he began to manage differently-before starting to eat he would pour
+out half into the pail, and this seemed to work. A dull drowsiness and
+faintness came over him.
+
+"I'll show you what I can do!" he threatened his body, and at the same
+time sadly, yet tenderly he felt his flabby, softened muscles with his
+hand.
+
+Soon, however, his body grew accustomed to this regime as well, and
+the fear of death appeared again-not so keen, nor so burning, but more
+disgusting, somewhat akin to a nauseating sensation. "It's because
+they are dragging it out so long," thought Sergey. "It would be a good
+idea to sleep all the time till the day of the execution," and he
+tried to sleep as much as possible. At first he succeeded, but later,
+either because he had slept too much, or for some other reason,
+insomnia appeared. And with it came eager, penetrating thoughts and a
+longing for life.
+
+"I am not afraid of this devil!" he thought of Death. "I simply feel
+sorry for my life. It is a splendid thing, no matter what the
+pessimists say about it. What if they were to hang a pessimist? Ah, I
+feel sorry for life, very sorry! And why does my beard grow now? It
+didn't grow before, but suddenly it grows-why?"
+
+He shook his head mournfully, heaving long, painful sighs.
+Silence-then a sigh; then a brief silence again-followed by a longer,
+deeper sigh.
+
+Thus it went on until the trial and the terrible meeting with his
+parents. When he awoke in his cell the next day he realized clearly
+that everything between him and life was ended, that there were only a
+few empty hours of waiting and then death would come, -and a strange
+sensation took possession of him. He felt as though he had been
+stripped, stripped entirely,-as if not only his clothes, but the sun,
+the air, the noise of voices and his ability to do things had been
+wrested from him. Death was not there as yet, but life was there no
+longer,-there was something new, something astonishing, inexplicable,
+not entirely reasonable and yet not altogether without
+meaning,-something so deep and mysterious and supernatural that it was
+impossible to understand.
+
+"Fie, you devil!" wondered Sergey, painfully. "What is this? Where am
+I? I- who am I?"
+
+He examined himself attentively, with interest, beginning with his
+large prison slippers, ending with his stomach where his coat
+protruded. He paced the cell, spreading out his arms and continuing to
+survey himself like a woman in a new dress which is too long for her.
+He tried to turn his head, and it turned. And this strange,, terrible,
+uncouth creature was he, Sergey Golovin, and soon he would be no more!
+
+Everything became strange.
+
+He tried to walk across the cell-and it seemed strange to him that he
+could walk. He tried to sit down-and it seemed strange to him that he
+could sit. He tried to drink some water-and it seemed strange to him
+that he could drink, that he could swallow, that he could hold the
+cup, that he had fingers and that those fingers were trembling. He
+choked, began to cough and while coughing, thought: "How strange it is
+that I am coughing."
+
+"Am I losing my reason?" thought Sergey, growing cold. "Am I coming to
+that, too? The devil take them!"
+
+He rubbed his forehead with his hand, and this also seemed strange to
+him. And then he remained breathless, motionless, petrified for hours,
+suppressing every thought, all loud breathing, all motion,-for every
+thought seemed to him but madness, every motion-madness. Time was no
+more; it appeared transformed into space, airless and transparent,
+into an enormous square upon which all were there-the earth and life
+and people. He saw all that at one glance, all to the very end, to the
+mysterious abyss- Death. And he was tortured not by the fact that
+Death was visible, but that both Life and Death were visible at the
+same time. The curtain which through eternity has hidden the mystery
+of life and the mystery of death was pushed aside by a sacrilegious
+hand, and the mysteries ceased to be mysteries-yet they remained
+incomprehensible, like the Truth written in a foreign tongue. There
+were no conceptions in his human mind, no words in his human language
+that could define what he saw. And the words "I am afraid" were
+uttered by him only because there were no other words, because no
+other conceptions existed, nor could other conceptions exist which
+would grasp this new, un-human condition. Thus would it be with a man
+if, while remaining within the bounds of human reason, experience and
+feelings, he were suddenly to see God Himself. He would see Him but
+would not understand, even though he knew that it was God, and he
+would tremble with inconceivable sufferings of incomprehension.
+
+"There is Mueller for you!" he suddenly uttered loudly, with extreme
+conviction, and shook his head. And with that unexpected break in his
+feelings, of which the human soul is so capable, he laughed heartily
+and cheerfully.
+
+"Oh, Mueller! My dear Mueller! Oh, you splendid German! After all you
+are right, Mueller, and I am an ass!"
+
+He paced the cell quickly several times and to the great astonishment
+of the soldier who was watching him through the peephole, he quickly
+undressed himself and cheerfully went through all the eighteen
+exercises with the greatest care. He stretched and expanded his young,
+somewhat emaciated body, sat down for a moment, drew deep breaths of
+air and exhaled it, stood up on tip-toe, stretched his arms and his
+feet. And after each exercise he announced, with satisfaction:
+
+"That's it! That's the real way, Mueller!" His cheeks flushed; drops
+of warm, pleasant perspiration came from the pores of his body, and
+his heart beat soundly and evenly.
+
+"The fact is, Mueller," philosophized Sergey, expanding his chest so
+that the ribs under his thin, tight skin were outlined clearly,-"the
+fact is, that there is a nineteenth exercise-to hang by the neck
+motionless. That is called execution. Do you understand, Mueller? They
+take a live man, let us say Sergey Golovin, they swaddle him as a doll
+and they hang him by the neck until he is dead. It is a foolish
+exercise, Mueller, but it can't be helped,-we have to do it."
+
+He bent over on the right side and repeated:
+
+"We have to do it, Mueller."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+DREADFUL SOLITUDE
+
+
+Under the same ringing of the clock, separated from Sergey and Musya
+by only a few empty cells, but yet so painfully desolate and alone in
+the whole world as though no other soul existed, poor Vasily Kashirin
+was passing the last hours of his life in terror and in anguish.
+
+Perspiring, his moist shirt clinging to his body, his once curly hair
+disheveled, he tossed about in the cell convulsively and hopelessly,
+like a man suffering from an unbearable physical torture. He would sit
+down for awhile, then start to run again, he would press his forehead
+against the wall, stop and seek something with his eyes-as if looking
+for some medicine. His expression changed as though he had two
+different faces. The former, the young face, had disappeared
+somewhere, and a new one, a terrible face that had seemed to have come
+out of the darkness, had taken its place.
+
+The fear of death had come upon him all at once and taken possession
+of him completely and forcibly. In the morning, while facing almost
+certain death, he had been care-free and had scorned it, but toward
+evening when he was placed in a cell in solitary confinement, he was
+whirled and carried away by a wave of mad fear. So long as he went of
+his own free will to face danger and death, so long as he had death,
+even though it seemed terrible, in his own hands, he felt at ease. He
+was even cheerful; in the sensation of boundless freedom, of brave and
+firm conviction of his fearless will, his little, shrunken, womanish
+fear was drowned, leaving no trace. With an infernal machine at his
+girdle, he made the cruel force of dynamite his own, also its fiery
+death-bearing power. And as he walked along the street, amidst the
+bustling, plain people, who were occupied with their affairs, who were
+hurriedly avoiding the dangers from the horses of carriages and cars,
+he seemed to himself as a stranger from another, unknown world, where
+neither death nor fear was known.
+
+And suddenly this harsh, wild, stupefying change. He can no longer go
+where he pleases, but he is led where others please. He can no longer
+choose the place he likes, but he is placed in a stone cage, and
+locked up like a thing. He can no longer choose freely, like all
+people, between life and death, but he will surely and inevitably be
+put to death. The incarnation of will-power, life and strength an
+instant before, he has now become a wretched image of the most pitiful
+weakness in the world. He has been transformed into an animal waiting
+to be slaughtered, a deaf-mute object which may be taken from place to
+place, burnt and broken. It matters not what he might say, nobody
+would listen to his words, and if he endeavored to shout, they would
+stop his mouth with a rag. Whether he can walk alone or not, they will
+take him away and hang him.
+
+And if he should offer resistance, struggle or lie down on the
+ground-they will overpower him, lift him, bind him and carry him,
+bound, to the gallows. And the fact that this machine-like work will
+be performed over him by human beings like himself, lent to them a
+new, extraordinary and ominous aspect- they seemed to him like ghosts
+that came to him for this one purpose, or like automatic puppets on
+springs. They would seize him, take him, carry him, hang him, pull him
+by the feet. They would cut the rope, take him down, carry him off and
+bury him.
+
+>From the first day of his imprisonment the people and life seemed to
+him to have turned into an incomprehensibly terrible world of phantoms
+and automatic puppets. Almost maddened with fear, he attempted to
+picture to himself that human beings had tongues and that they could
+speak, but he could not-they seemed to him to be mute. He tried to
+recall their speech, the meaning of the words that people used in
+their relations with one another-but he could not. Their mouths seemed
+to open, some sounds were heard; then they moved their feet and
+disappeared. And nothing more.
+
+Thus would a man feel if he were at night alone in his house and
+suddenly all objects were to come to life, start to move and overpower
+him. And suddenly they would all begin to judge him: the cupboard, the
+chair, the writing-table and the divan. He would cry and toss about,
+entreating, calling for help, while they would speak among themselves
+in their own language, and then would lead him to the scaffold,-they,
+the cupboard, the chair, the writing-table and the divan. And the
+other objects would look on.
+
+To Vasily Kashirin, who was condemned to death by hanging, everything
+now seemed like children's playthings: his cell, the door with the
+peephole, the strokes of the woundup clock, the carefully molded
+fortress, and especially that mechanical puppet with the gun who
+stamped his feet in the corridor, and the others who, frightening him,
+peeped into his cell through the little window and handed him the food
+in silence. And that which he was experiencing was not the fear of
+death; death was now rather welcome to him. Death with all its eternal
+mysteriousness and incomprehensibility was more acceptable to his
+reason than this strangely and fantastically changed world. What is
+more, death seemed to have been destroyed completely in this insane
+world of phantoms and puppets, having lost its great and enigmatic
+significance, becoming something mechanical and only for that reason
+terrible. He would be seized, taken, led, hanged, pulled by the feet,
+the rope would be cut, he would be taken down, carried off and buried.
+
+And the man would have disappeared from the world.
+
+At the trial the nearness of his comrades brought Kashirin to himself.
+For an instant he imagined he saw real people; they were sitting and
+trying him, speaking like human beings, listening, apparently
+understanding him. But as he mentally rehearsed the meeting with his
+mother he clearly felt with the terror of a man who is beginning to
+lose his reason and who realizes it, that this old woman in the black
+little kerchief was only an artificial, mechanical puppet, of the kind
+that can say "pa-pa," "ma-ma," but somewhat better constructed. He
+tried to speak to her, while thinking at the same time with a shudder:
+
+"O Lord! That is a puppet. A mother doll. And there is a
+soldier-puppet, and there, at home, is a father-puppet, and this is
+the puppet of Vasily Kashirin."
+
+It seemed to him that in another moment he would hear somewhere the
+creaking of the mechanism, the screeching of unoiled wheels. When his
+mother began to cry, something human again flashed for an instant, but
+at the very first words it disappeared again, and it was interesting
+and terrible to see that water was flowing from the eyes of the doll.
+
+Then, in his cell, when the terror had become unbearable, Vasily
+Kashirin attempted to pray. Of all that had surrounded his childhood
+days in his father's house under the guise of religion only a
+repulsive, bitter and irritating sediment remained; but faith there
+was none. But once, perhaps in his earliest childhood, he had heard a
+few words which had filled him with palpitating emotion and which
+remained during all his life enwrapped with tender poetry. These words
+were:
+
+"The joy of all the afflicted  .  .  ."
+
+It had happened, during painful periods in his life, that he whispered
+to himself, not in prayer, without being definitely conscious of it,
+these words: "The joy of all the afflicted"-and suddenly he would feel
+relieved and a desire would come over him to go to some dear friend
+and question gently:
+
+"Our life-is this life? Eh, my dearest, is this life?"
+
+And then suddenly it would appear laughable to him and he would feel
+like mussing up his hair, putting forth his knee and thrusting out his
+chest as though to receive heavy "blows; saying: "Here, strike!"
+
+He did not tell anybody, not even his nearest comrades, about his "joy
+of all the afflicted" and it was as though he himself did not know
+about it,-so deeply was it hidden in his soul.  He recalled it but
+rarely and cautiously.
+
+Now when the terror of the insoluble mystery, which appeared so
+plainly before him, enveloped him completely, even as the water in
+high-flood covers the willow twigs on the shore,-a desire came upon
+him to pray. He felt like kneeling, but he was ashamed of the soldier
+and, folding his arms on his chest, he whispered softly:
+
+"The joy of all the afflicted!" And he repeated tenderly, in anguish:
+"Joy of all the afflicted, come to me, help Vaska Kashirin."
+
+'' Long ago, while he was yet in his first term at the university and
+used to go off on a spree sometimes, before he had made the
+acquaintance of Werner and before he had entered the organization, he
+used then to call himself half-boastingly, half-pityingly, "Vaska
+Kashirin,"-and now for some reason or other he suddenly felt like
+calling himself by the same name again. But the words had a dead and
+toneless sound. "The joy of all the afflicted!"
+
+Something stirred. It was as though some one's calm and mournful image
+had flashed up in the distance and died out quietly, without
+illuminating the deathly gloom. The wound-up clock in the steeple
+struck. The soldier in the corridor made a noise with his gun or with
+his saber and he yawned, slowly, at intervals.
+
+"Joy of all the afflicted! You are silent! Will you not say anything
+to Vaska Kashirin?"
+
+He smiled patiently and waited. All was empty within his soul and
+about him. And the calm, mournful image did not reappear. He recalled,
+painfully and unnecessarily, wax candles burning; the priest in his
+vestments ; the ikon painted on the wall. He recalled his father,
+bending and stretching himself, praying and bowing to the ground,
+while looking sidewise to see whether Vaska was praying, or whether he
+was planning some mischief. And a feeling of still greater terror came
+over Vasily than before the prayer.
+
+Everything now disappeared.
+
+Madness came crawling painfully. His consciousnesss was dying out like
+an extinguishing bonfire, growing icy like the corpse of a man who had
+just died, whose heart is still warm but whose hands and feet had
+already become stiffened with cold. His dying reason flared up as red
+as blood again and said that he, Vasily Kashirin, might perhaps become
+insane here, suffer pains for which there is no name, reach a degree
+of anguish and suffering that had never been experienced by a single
+living being; that he might beat his head against the wall, pick his
+eyes out with his fingers, speak and shout whatever he pleased, that
+he might plead with tears that he could endure it no longer, -and
+nothing would happen. Nothing could happen.
+
+And nothing happened. His feet, which had a consciousness and life of
+their own, continued to walk and to carry his trembling, moist body.
+His hands, which had a consciousness of their own, endeavored in vain
+to fasten the coat which was open at his chest and to warm his
+trembling, moist body.
+
+His body quivered with cold. His eyes stared. And this was calm itself
+embodied.
+
+But there was one more moment of wild terror. That was when people
+entered his cell. He did not even imagine that this visit meant that
+it was time to go to the execution; he simply saw the people and was
+frightened like a child.
+
+"I will not do it! I will not do it!" he whispered inaudibly with his
+livid lips and silently retreated to the depth of the cell, even as in
+childhood he shrank when his father lifted his hand.
+
+"We must start."
+
+The people were speaking, walking around him, handing him something.
+He closed his eyes, he shook a little,-and began to dress himself
+slowly. His consciousness must have returned to him, for he suddenly
+asked the official for a cigarette. And the official generously opened
+his silver cigarette-case upon which was a chased figure in the style
+of the decadents.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+THE WALLS AEE FALLING
+
+
+The unidentified man, who called himself Werner, was tired of life and
+struggle. There was a time when he loved life very dearly, when he
+enjoyed the theater, literature and social intercourse. Endowed with
+an excellent memory and a firm will, he had mastered several European
+languages and could easily pass for a German, a Frenchman or an
+Englishman. He usually spoke German with a Bavarian accent, but when
+he felt like it, he could speak like a born Berliner. He was fond of
+dress, his manners were excellent and he alone, of all the members of
+the organization, dared attend the balls given in high society,
+without running the risk of being recognized as an outsider.
+
+But for a long time, altogether unnoticed by his comrades, there had
+ripened in his soul a dark contempt for mankind; contempt mingled with
+despair and painful, almost deadly fatigue. By nature rather a
+mathematician than a poet, he had not known until now any inspiration,
+any ecstasy and at times he felt like a madman, looking for the
+squaring of a circle in pools of human blood. The enemy against whom
+he struggled every day could not inspire him with respect. It was a
+dense net of stupidity, treachery and falsehood, vile insults and base
+deceptions. The last incident which seemed to have destroyed in him
+forever the desire to live, was the murder of the provocateur which he
+had committed by order of the organization. He had killed him in cold
+blood, but when he saw that dead, deceitful, now calm, and after all
+pitiful, human face, he suddenly ceased to respect himself and his
+work. Not that he was seized with a feeling of repentance, but he
+simply stopped appreciating himself. He became uninteresting to
+himself, unimportant, a dull stranger. But being a man of strong,
+unbroken will-power, he did not leave the organization. He remained
+outwardly the same as before, only there was something cold, yet
+painful in his eyes. He never spoke to anyone of this.
+
+  He possessed another rare quality: just as there are people who have
+never known headaches, so Werner had never known fear. When other
+people were afraid, he looked upon them without censure but also
+without any particular compassion, just as upon a rather contagious
+illness from which, however, he himself had never suffered. He felt
+sorry for his comrades, especially for Vasya Kashirin; but that was a
+cold, almost official pity, which even some of the judges may have
+felt at times.
+
+Werner understood that the execution was not merely death, that it was
+something different,-but he resolved to face it calmly, as something
+not to be considered; to live until the end as if nothing had happened
+and as if nothing could happen. Only in this way could he express his
+greatest contempt for capital punishment and preserve his last freedom
+of the spirit which could not be torn away from him. At the trial-and
+even his comrades who knew well his cold, haughty fearlessness would
+perhaps not have believed this,-he thought neither of death nor of
+life,-but concentrated his attention deeply and coolly upon a
+difficult chess game which he was playing. A superior chess player, he
+had started this game on the first day of his imprisonment and
+continued it uninterruptedly. Even the sentence condemning him to
+death by hanging did not remove a single figure from his imaginary
+chessboard. Even the knowledge that he would not be able to finish
+this game, did not stop him; and the morning of the last day that he
+was to remain on earth he started by correcting a not altogether
+successful move he had made on the previous day. Clasping his lowered
+hands between his knees, he sat for a long time motionless, then he
+rose and began to walk, meditating. His walk was peculiar: he leaned
+the upper part of his body slightly forward and stamped the ground
+with his heels firmly and distinctly. His steps usually left deep,
+plain imprints even on dry ground. He whistled softly, in one breath,
+a simple Italian melody, which helped his meditation.
+
+But this time for some reason or other the thing did not work well.
+With an unpleasant feeling that he had made some important, even grave
+blunder, he went back several times and examined the game almost from
+the beginning. He found no blunder, yet the feeling about a blunder
+committed not only failed to leave him, but even grew ever more
+intense and unpleasant. Suddenly an unexpected and offensive thought
+came into his mind: Did the blunder perhaps consist in his playing
+chess simply because he wanted to distract his attention from the
+execution and thus shield himself against the fear of death which is
+apparently inevitable in every person condemned to death?
+
+"No. What for?" he answered coldly and closed calmly his imaginary
+chessboard. And with the same concentration with which he had played
+chess, he tried to give himself an account of the horror and the
+helplessness of his situation. As though he were going through a
+strict examination, he looked over the cell, trying not to let
+anything escape. He counted the hours that remained until the
+execution, made for himself an approximate and quite exact picture of
+the execution itself and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"Well?" he said to some one half-questioningly. "Here it is. Where is
+the fear?"
+
+Indeed there was no fear. Not only was it not there, but something
+entirely different, the reverse of fear, developed-a sensation of
+confused, but enormous and savage joy. And the error, which he had not
+yet discovered, no longer called forth in him vexation or
+irritation,-it seemed to speak loudly of something good and
+unexpected, as though he had believed a dear friend of his to be dead,
+and that friend turned out to be alive, safe and sound and laughing.
+
+Werner again shrugged his shoulders and felt his pulse,-his heart was
+beating faster than usual, but soundly and evenly, with a specially
+ringing throb. He looked about once more, attentively, like a novice
+for the first time in prison,-examined the walls, the bolts, the chair
+which was screwed to the floor, and thought:
+
+"Why do I feel so easy, so joyous and free? Yes, so free? I think of
+the execution to-morrow-and I feel as though it is not there. I look
+at the walls-and I feel as though they are not here, either. And I
+feel so free, as though I were not in prison, but had just come out of
+some prison where I had spent all my life. What does this mean?"
+
+His hands began to tremble,-something Werner had not experienced
+before. His thoughts fluttered ever more furiously. It was as if
+tongues of fire had flashed up in his mind, and the fire wanted to
+burst forth and illumine the distance which was still dark as night.
+Now the light pierced through and the widely illuminated distance
+began to shine.
+
+The fatigue that had tormented Werner during the last two years had
+disappeared; the dead, cold, heavy serpent with its closed eyes and
+mouth clinched in death, had fallen away from his breast. Before the
+face of death, beautiful Youth came back to him physically. Indeed, it
+was more than beautiful Youth. With that wonderful clarity of the
+spirit which in rare moments comes over man and lifts him to the
+loftiest peaks of meditation, Werner suddenly perceived both life and
+death, and he was awed by the splendor of the unprecedented spectacle.
+It seemed to him that he was walking along the highest mountain-ridge,
+which was narrow like the blade of a knife, and on one side he saw
+Life, on the other side-Death,-like two sparkling, deep, beautiful
+seas, blending in one boundless, broad surface at the horizon.
+
+"What is this? What a divine spectacle!" he said slowly, rising
+involuntarily and straightening himself, as if in the presence of a
+supreme being. And destroying the walls, space and time with the
+impetuosity of his all-penetrating look, he cast a wide glance
+somewhere into the depth of the life he was to forsake.
+
+And life appeared to him in a new light. He did not strive, as before,
+to clothe in words that which he had seen; nor were there such words
+in the still poor, meager human language. That small, cynical and evil
+feeling which had called forth in him a contempt for mankind and at
+times even an aversion for the sight of a human face, had disappeared
+completely. Thus, for a man who goes up in an airship, the filth and
+litter of the narrow streets disappear and that which was ugly becomes
+beautiful.
+
+Unconsciously Werner stepped over to the table and leaned his right
+hand on it. Proud and commanding by nature, he had never before
+assumed such a proud, free, commanding pose, had never turned his head
+and never looked as he did now,-for he had never yet been as free and
+dominant as he was here in the prison, with but a few hours from
+execution and death.
+
+Now men seemed new to him,-they appeared amiable and charming to his
+clarified vision. Soaring over time, he saw clearly how young mankind
+was, that but yesterday it had been howling like a beast in the
+forests; and that which had seemed to him terrible in human beings,
+unpardonable and repulsive, suddenly became very dear to him,-like the
+inability of a child to walk as grown people do, like a child's
+unconnected lisping, flashing with sparks of genius; like a child's
+comical blunders, errors and painful bruises.
+
+"My dear people!" Werner suddenly smiled and at once lost all that was
+imposing in his pose; he again became a prisoner who finds his cell
+narrow and uncomfortable under lock, and he was tired of the annoying,
+searching eye staring at him through the peephole in the door. And,
+strange to say, almost instantly he forgot all that he had seen a
+little while before so clearly and distinctly; and, what is still
+stranger, he did not even make an effort to recall it. He simply sat
+down as comfortably as possible, without the usual stiffness of his
+body, and surveyed the walls and the bars with a faint and gentle,
+strange, un-Werner-like smile. Still another new thing happened to
+Werner, -something that had never happened to him before: he suddenly
+started to weep.
+
+"My dear comrades!" he whispered, crying bitterly. "My dear comrades!"
+
+By what mysterious ways did he change from the feeling of proud and
+boundless freedom to this tender and passionate compassion? He did not
+know, nor did he think of it. Did he pity his dear comrades, or did
+his tears conceal something else, a still loftier and more passionate
+feeling?-His suddenly revived and rejuvenated heart did not know this
+either. He wept and whispered:
+
+"My dear comrades! My dear, dear comrades!"
+
+In this man, who was bitterly weeping and smiling through tears, no
+one could have recognized the cold and haughty, weary, yet daring
+Werner-neither the judges, nor the comrades, nor even he himself.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+ON THE WAY TO THE SCAFFOLD
+
+
+Before placing the condemned people in coaches, all five were brought
+together in a large cold room with a vaulted ceiling, which resembled
+an office, where people worked no longer, or a deserted waiting-room.
+They were now permitted to speak to one another.
+
+Only Tanya Kovalchuk availed herself at once of the permission. The
+others firmly and silently shook each other's hands, which were as
+cold as ice and as hot as fire,-and silently, trying not to look at
+each other, they crowded together in an awkward, absent-minded group.
+Now that they were together, they felt somewhat ashamed of what each
+of them had experienced when alone; and they were afraid to look, so
+as not to notice or to show that new, peculiar, somewhat shameful
+sensation that each of them felt or suspected the others of feeling.
+
+But after a short silence they glanced at each other, smiled and
+immediately began to feel at ease and unrestrained, as before. No
+change seemed to have occurred, and if it had occurred, it had come so
+gently over all of them that it could not be discerned in any one
+separately. All spoke and moved about strangely: abruptly, by jolts,
+either too fast or too slowly. Sometimes they seemed to choke with
+their words and repeated them a number of times; sometimes they did
+not finish a phrase they had started, or thought they had
+finished-they did not notice it. They all blinked their eyes and
+examined ordinary objects curiously, not recognizing them, like people
+who had worn eye-glasses and had suddenly taken them off; and all of
+them .frequently turned around abruptly, as though some one behind
+them was calling them all the time and showing them something. But
+they did not notice this, either. Musya's and Tanya Kovalchuk's cheeks
+and ears were burning; Sergey was at first somewhat pale, but he soon
+recovered and looked as he always did.
+
+Only Vasily attracted everybody's attention. Even among them, he
+looked strange and terrible. Werner became agitated and said to Musya
+in a low voice, with tender anxiety:
+
+"What does this mean, Musyechka? Is it possible that he--- What? I
+must go to him."
+
+Vasily looked at Werner from the distance, as though not recognizing
+him, and he lowered his eyes.
+
+"Vasya, what have you done with your hair? What is the matter with
+you? Never mind, my dear, never mind, it will soon be over. We must
+keep up, we must, we must."
+
+Vasily was silent. But when it seemed ''that he would no longer say
+anything, a dull, belated, terribly remote answer came-like an answer
+from the grave:
+
+"I'm all right.  I hold my own."
+
+Then he repeated:
+
+"I hold my own."
+
+Werner was delighted.
+
+"That's the way, that's the way. Good boy. That's the way."
+
+But his eyes met Vasily's dark, wearied glance fixed upon him from the
+distance and he thought with instant sorrow: "From where is he
+looking? From where is he speaking?" and with profound tenderness,
+with which people address a grave, he said:
+
+"Vasya, do you hear? I love you very much."
+
+"So do I love you very much," answered the tongue, moving with
+difficulty.
+
+Suddenly Musya took Werner by the hand and with an expression of
+surprise, she said like an actress on the stage, with measured
+emphasis:
+
+"Werner, what is this? You said, 'I love'? You never before said 'I
+love' to anybody. And why are you all so-tender and serene? Why?"
+
+"Why?"
+
+And like an actor, also accentuating what he felt, Werner pressed
+Musya's hand firmly:
+
+"Yes, now I love very much. Don't tell it to the others,-it isn't
+necessary, I feel somewhat ashamed, but I love deeply."
+
+Their eyes met and flashed up brightly, and everything about them
+seemed to have plunged in darkness. It is thus that in the flash of
+lightning all other lights are instantly darkened and the heavy yellow
+flame casts a shadow upon earth.
+
+"Yes," said Musya, "yes, Werner."
+
+"Yes," he answered, "yes, Musya, yes."
+
+They understood each other and something was firmly settled between
+them at this moment. And his eyes glistening, Werner again became
+agitated and quickly stepped over to Sergey.
+
+"Seryozha!"
+
+But Tanya Kovalchuk answered. Almost crying with maternal pride, she
+tugged Sergey frantically by the sleeve.
+
+"Listen, Werner! I am crying here for him, I am wearing myself to
+death, and he is occupying himself with gymnastics!"
+
+"According to the Mueller system?" smiled Werner.
+
+Sergey knit his brow confusedly.
+
+"You needn't laugh, Werner. I have convinced myself conclusively--"
+
+All began to laugh. Drawing strength and courage from one another,
+they gradually regained their poise-became the same as they used to
+be. They did not notice this, however, and thought that they had never
+changed at all. Suddenly Werner interrupted their laughter and said to
+Sergey very earnestly:
+
+"You are right, Seryozha. You are perfectly right."
+
+"No, but you must understand," said Golovin gladly. "Of course, we--"
+
+But at this point they were asked to start. And their jailers were so
+kind as to permit them to ride in pairs, as they pleased. Altogether
+the jailers were extremely kind; even too kind. It was as if they
+tried partly to show themselves humane and partly to show that they
+were not there at all, but that everything was being done as by
+machinery. But they were all pale.
+
+"Musya, you go with him." Werner pointed at Vasily, who stood
+motionless.
+
+"I understand," Musya nodded. "And you?"
+
+"I? Tanya will go with Sergey, you go with Vasya. ... I will go alone.
+That doesn't matter, I can do it, you know."
+
+When they went out in the yard, the moist, soft darkness rushed warmly
+and strongly against their faces, their eyes, taking their breath
+away, then suddenly it penetrated their bodies tenderly and
+refreshingly. It was hard to believe that this wonderful effect was
+produced simply by the spring wind, the warm, moist wind. And the
+really wonderful spring night was filled with the odor of melting
+snow, and through the boundless space the noise of drops resounded.
+Hastily and frequently, as though trying to overtake one another,
+little drops were falling, striking in unison a ringing tune. Suddenly
+one of them would strike out of tune and all was mingled in a merry
+splash in hasty confusion. Then a large, heavy drop would strike
+firmly and again the fast, spring melody resounded distinctly. And
+over the city, above the roofs of the fortress, hung a pale redness in
+the sky reflected by the electric lights.
+
+"U-ach!" Sergey Golovin heaved a deep sigh and held his breath, as
+though he regretted to exhale from his lungs the fine, fresh air.
+
+"How long have you had such weather?" inquired Werner. "It's real
+spring."
+
+"It's only the second day," was the polite answer. "Before that we had
+mostly frosty weather."
+
+The dark carriages rolled over noiselessly one after another, took
+them in by twos, started off into the darkness-there where the lantern
+was shaking at the gate. The convoys like gray silhouettes surrounded
+each carriage; the horseshoes struck noisily against the ground, or
+plashed upon the melting snow.
+
+When Werner bent down, about to climb into the carriage, the gendarme
+whispered to him:
+
+"There is somebody else going along with you."
+
+Werner was surprised.
+
+"Where? Where is he going? Oh, yes! Another one? Who is he?"
+
+The gendarme was silent. Indeed, in a dark corner a small, motionless
+but living figure pressed close to the side of the carriage. By the
+reflection of the lantern Werner noticed the flash of an open eye.
+Seating himself, Werner pushed his foot against the other man's knee.
+
+"Excuse me, comrade."
+
+The man made no reply. It was only when the carriage started, that he
+suddenly asked in broken Russian, speaking with difficulty:
+
+"Who are you?"
+
+"I am Werner, condemned to hanging for the attempt upon N-. And you?"
+
+"I am Yanson.  They must not hang me."
+
+They were riding thus in order to appear two hours later face to face
+before the inexplicable great mystery, in order to pass from Life to
+Death-and they were introducing each other. Life and Death moved
+simultaneously, and until the very end Life remained life, to the most
+ridiculous and insipid trifles.
+
+"What have you done, Yanson?"
+
+"I killed my master with a knife. I stole money."
+
+It seemed from the tone of his voice that Yanson was falling asleep.
+Werner found his flabby hand in the darkness and pressed it. Yanson
+withdrew it drowsily.
+
+"Are you afraid?" asked Werner.
+
+"I don't want to be hanged."
+
+They became silent. Werner again found the Esthonian's hand and
+pressed it firmly between his dry, burning palms. Yanson's hand lay
+motionless, like a board, but he made no longer any effort to withdraw
+it.
+
+It was close and suffocating in the carriage. The air was filled with
+the smell of soldiers' clothes, mustiness, and the leather of wet
+boots. The young gendarme who sat opposite Werner breathed warmly upon
+him, and in his breath there was the odor of onions and cheap tobacco.
+But some brisk, fresh air came in through certain clefts, and because
+of this, spring was felt even more intensely in this small, stifling,
+moving box, than outside. The carriage kept turning now to the right,
+now to the left, now it seemed to turn back. At times it seemed as
+though they had been turning around on one and the same spot for hours
+for some reason or other. At first a bluish electric light penetrated
+through the lowered, heavy window shades; then suddenly, after a
+certain turn it grew dark, and only by this could they guess that they
+had turned into deserted streets in the outskirts of the city and that
+they were nearing the S. railroad station. Sometimes during sharp
+turns, Werner's live, bent knee would strike against the live, bent
+knee of the gendarme, and it was hard to believe that the execution
+was approaching.
+
+"Where are we going?" Yanson asked suddenly. He was somewhat dizzy
+from the continuous turning of the dark box and he felt slightly sick
+at his stomach.
+
+Werner answered and pressed the Esthonian's hand more firmly. He felt
+like saying something especially kind and caressing to this little,
+sleepy man, and he already loved him as he had never loved anyone in
+his life.
+
+"You don't seem to sit comfortably, my dear man. Move over here, to
+me."
+
+Yanson was silent for awhile, then he replied:
+
+"Well, thank you. I'm sitting all right. Are they going to hang you
+too?"
+
+"Yes," answered Werner, almost laughing with unexpected jollity, and
+he waved his hand easily and freely, as though he were speaking of
+some absurd and trifling joke which kind but terribly comical people
+wanted to play on him.
+
+"Have you a wife?" asked Yanson.
+
+"No.  I have no wife.  I am single."
+
+"I am also alone.  Alone," said Yanson.
+
+Werner's head also began to feel dizzy. And at times it seemed that
+they were going to some festival; strange to say, almost all those who
+went to the scaffold experienced the same sensation and mingled with
+sorrow and fear there was a vague joy as they anticipated the
+extraordinary thing that was soon to befall them. Reality was
+intoxicated with madness and Death, united with Life, brought forth
+apparitions. It seemed very possible that flags were waving over the
+houses.
+
+"We have arrived!" said Werner gayly when the carriage stopped, and he
+jumped out easily. But with Yanson it was a rather slow affair:
+silently and very drowsily he resisted and would not come out. He
+seized the knob. The gendarme opened the weak fingers and pulled his
+hand away. Then Yanson seized the corner of the carriage, the door,
+the high wheel, but immediately let it go upon the slightest effort on
+the part of the gendarme. He did not exactly seize these things; he
+rather cleaved to each object sleepily and silently, and was torn away
+easily, without any effort. Finally he got up.
+
+There were no flags. The railroad station was dark, deserted and
+lifeless; the passenger trains were not running any longer, and the
+train which was silently waiting for these passengers on the way
+needed no bright light, no commotion. Suddenly Werner began to feel
+weary. It was not fear, nor anguish, but a feeling of enormous,
+painful, tormenting weariness which makes one feel like going off
+somewhere, lying down and closing one's eyes very tightly. Werner
+stretched himself and yawned slowly. Yanson also stretched himself and
+quickly yawned several times.
+
+"I wish they'd be quicker about it," said Werner wearily. Yanson was
+silent, shrinking together.
+
+When the condemned moved along the deserted platform which was
+surrounded by soldiers, to the dimly lighted cars, Werner found
+himself near Sergey Golovin; Sergey, pointing with his hand somewhere
+aside, began to say something, but only the word "lantern" was heard
+distinctly, and the rest was drowned in slow and weary yawning.
+
+"What did you say?" asked Werner, also yawning.
+
+"The lantern. The lamp in the lantern is smoking," said Sergey. Werner
+looked around. Indeed, the lamp in the lantern was smoking very much,
+and the glass had already turned black on top.
+
+"Yes, it is smoking."
+
+Suddenly he thought: "What have I to do with the smoking of the lamp,
+since---"
+
+Sergey apparently thought the same, as he glanced quickly at Werner
+and turned away. But both stopped yawning.
+
+They all went to the cars themselves, only Yanson had to be led by the
+arms. At first he stamped his feet and his boots seemed to stick to
+the boards of the platform. Then he bent his knees and fell into the
+arms of the gendarmes, his feet dangled like those of a very
+intoxicated man, and the tips of the boots scraped against the wood.
+It took a long time until he was silently pushed through the door.
+
+Vasily Kashirin also moved himself, unconsciously imitating the
+movements of his comrades-he did everything as they did. But on
+boarding the platform of the car, he stumbled, and a gendarme took him
+by the elbow to support him. Vasily shuddered and screamed shrilly,
+drawing back his arm:
+
+"Ail"
+
+"What is it, Vasya?" Werner rushed over to him. Vasily was silent,
+trembling in every limb. The confused and even offended gendarme
+explained:
+
+"I wanted to keep him from falling, and he--"
+
+"Come, Vasya, let me hold you," said Werner, about to take him by the
+arm. But Vasily drew back his arm again and cried more loudly than
+before:
+
+"Ai!"
+
+"Vasya, it is I, Werner."
+
+"I know. Don't touch me. I'll go myself."
+
+And continuing to tremble he entered the car himself and seated
+himself in a corner. Bending over to Musya, Werner asked her softly,
+pointing with his eyes at Vasily:
+
+"How about him?"
+
+"Bad," answered Musya, also in a soft voice. "He is dead already.
+Werner, tell me, is there such a thing as death?"
+
+"I don't know, Musya, but I think that there is no such thing,"
+replied Werner seriously and thoughtfully.
+
+"That's what I have thought. But he? I was tortured with him in the
+carriage-it was like riding with a corpse."
+
+"I don't know, Musya. Perhaps there is such a thing as death for some
+people. Meanwhile, perhaps, but later there will be no death. For me
+death also existed before, but now it exists no longer."
+
+Musya's somewhat paled cheeks flushed as she asked:
+
+"It did exist, Werner?  It did?"
+
+"It did. But not now any longer. Just the same as with you."
+
+A noise was heard in the doorway of the car. Mishka Tsiganok entered,
+stamping noisily with his heels, breathing loudly and spitting. He
+cast a swift glance and stopped obdurately.
+
+"No room here, gendarme!" he shouted to the tired gendarme who looked
+at him angrily. "You make it so that I am comfortable here, otherwise
+I won't go-hang me here on the lamp-post. What a carriage they gave
+me, dogs! Is that a carriage? It's the devil's belly, not a carriage!"
+
+But suddenly he bent down his head, stretched out his neck and thus
+went forward to the others. Out of the disheveled frame of hair and
+beard his black eyes looked wildly and sharply with an almost insane
+expression.
+
+"Ah, gentlemen!" he drawled out. "So that's what it is. Hello,
+master!"
+
+He thrust his hand to Werner and sat down opposite him. And bending
+closely over to him, he winked one eye and quickly passed his hand
+over his throat.
+
+"You, too?  What?"
+
+"Yes!" smiled Werner.
+
+"Are all of us to be hanged?"
+
+"All."
+
+"Oho!" Tsiganok grinned, showing his teeth, and quickly felt everybody
+with his eyes, stopping for an instant longer on Musya and Yanson.
+Then he winked again to Werner.
+
+"The Minister?"
+
+"Yes, the Minister.  And you?"
+
+"I am here for something else, master. People like me don't deal with
+ministers. I am a murderer, master, that's what I am. An ordinary
+murderer. Never mind, master, move away a little, I haven't come into
+your company of my own will. There will be room enough for all of us
+in the other world."
+
+He surveyed them all with one swift, suspicious, wild glance from
+under his disheveled hair. But all looked at him silently and
+seriously, even with apparent interest. He grinned, showing his teeth,
+and quickly clapped Werner on the knee several times.
+
+"That's the way, master! How does the song run? 'Don't rustle, O green
+little mother forest. . . .'"
+
+"Why do you call me 'master,' since we are all going--"
+
+"Correct," Tsiganok agreed with satisfaction. "What kind of master are
+you, if you are going to hang right beside me? There is a master for
+you"; and he pointed with his finger at the silent gendarme. "Eh, that
+fellow there is not worse than our kind"; he pointed with his eyes at
+Vasily. "Master! He there, master! You're afraid, aren't you?"
+
+"No," answered the heavy tongue.
+
+"Never mind that 'No.' Don't be ashamed; there's nothing to be ashamed
+of. Only a dog wags his tail and snarls when he is taken to be hanged,
+but you are a man. Who is that dope? He isn't one of you, is he?"
+
+He darted his glance rapidly about, and hissing, kept spitting
+continuously. Yanson, curled up into a motionless bundle, pressed
+closely into the corner. The flaps of his outworn fur cap stirred, but
+he maintained silence. Werner answered for him:
+
+"He killed his employer."
+
+"O Lord!" wondered Tsiganok. "Why are such people allowed to kill?"
+
+For some time Tsiganok had been looking sideways at Musya; now turning
+quickly, he stared at her sharply, straight into her face.
+
+"Young lady, young lady!  What about you? Her cheeks are rosy and she
+is laughing. Look, she is really laughing," he said, clasping Werner's
+knee with his clutching, iron-like fingers. "Look, look!"
+
+Reddening, smiling confusedly, Musya also gazed straight into his
+sharp and wildly searching eyes.
+
+The wheels rattled fast and noisily. The small cars kept hopping along
+the narrow rails. Now at a curve or at a crossing the small engine
+whistled shrilly and carefully -the engineer was afraid lest he might
+run over somebody. It was strange to think that so much humane
+painstaking care and exertion was being introduced into the business
+of hanging people; that the most insane deed on earth was being
+committed with such an air of simplicity and reasonableness. The cars
+were running, arid human beings sat in them as people always do, and
+they rode as people usually ride; and then there would be a halt, as
+usual.
+
+"The train will stop for five minutes."
+
+And there death would be waiting-eternity-the great mystery, on with
+friendliness, watching how Yanson's fingers took the cigarette, how
+the match flared, and then how the blue smoke issued from Yanson's
+mouth.
+
+"Thanks," said Yanson; "it's good."
+
+"How strange!" said Sergey.
+
+"What is strange?" Werner turned around. ''What is strange?"
+
+"I mean-the cigarette."
+
+Yanson held a cigarette, an ordinary cigarette, in his ordinary live
+hands, and, pale-faced, looked at it with surprise, even with terror.
+And all fixed their eyes upon the little tube, from the end of which
+smoke was issuing, like a bluish ribbon, wafted aside by the
+breathing, with the ashes, gathering, turning black. The light went
+out.
+
+"The light's out," said Tanya.
+
+"Yes, the light's out."
+
+"Let it go," said Werner, frowning, looking uneasily at Yanson, whose
+hand, holding the cigarette, was hanging loosely, as if dead. Suddenly
+Tsiganok turned quickly, bent over to Werner, close to him, face to
+face, and rolling the whites of his eyes, like a horse, whispered:
+
+"Master, how about the convoys? Suppose we-he? Shall we try?"
+
+"No, don't do it," Werner replied, also in a whisper. "We shall drink
+it to the bitter end."
+
+"Why not? It's livelier in a fight! Eh? I strike him, he strikes me,
+and you don't even know how the thing is done. It's just as if you
+don't die at all."
+
+"No, you shouldn't do it," said Werner, and turned to Yanson. "Why
+don't you smoke, friend?"
+
+Suddenly Yanson's wizened face became wofully wrinkled, as if somebody
+had pulled strings which set all the wrinkles in motion. And, as in a
+dream, he began to whimper, without tears, in a dry, strained voice:
+
+"I don't want to smoke. Aha! aha! aha! Why should I be hanged? Aha!
+aha! aha!"
+
+They began to bustle about him. Tanya Kovalchuk, weeping freely,
+petted him on the arm, and adjusted the drooping earlaps of his worn
+fur cap.
+
+"My dear, do not cry! My own! my dear! Poor, unfortunate little
+fellow!"
+
+Musya looked aside. Tsiganok caught her glance and grinned, showing
+his teeth.
+
+"What a queer fellow! He drinks tea, and yet feels cold," he said,
+with an abrupt laugh. But suddenly his own face became bluish-black,
+like cast-iron, and his large yellow teeth flashed.
+
+Suddenly the little cars trembled and slackened their speed. All,
+except Yanson and Kashirin, rose and sat down again quickly.
+
+"Here is the station," said Sergey.
+
+It seemed to them as if all the air had been suddenly pumped out of
+the car, it became so difficult to breathe. The heart grew larger,
+making the chest almost burst, beating in the throat, tossing about
+madly- shouting in horror with its blood-filled voice. And the eyes
+looked upon the quivering floor, and the ears heard how the wheels
+were turning ever more slowly-the wheels slipped and turned again, and
+then suddenly-they stopped.
+
+The train had halted.
+
+Then a dream set in. It .was not terrible, rather fantastic,
+unfamiliar to the memory, strange. The dreamer himself seemed to
+remain aside, only his bodiless apparition moved about, spoke
+soundlessly, walked noiselessly, suffered without suffering. As in a
+dream, they walked out of the car, formed into parties of two, inhaled
+the peculiarly fresh spring air of the forest. As in a dream, Yanson
+resisted bluntly, powerlessly, and was dragged out of the car
+silently.
+
+They descended the steps of the station.
+
+"Are we to walk?" asked some one almost cheerily.
+
+"It isn't far now," answered another, also cheerily.
+
+Then they walked in a large, black, silent crowd amid the forest,
+along a rough, wet and soft spring road. From the forest, from the
+snow, a fresh, strong breath of air was wafted. The feet slipped,
+sometimes sinking into the snow, and involuntarily the hands of the
+comrades clung to each other. And the convoys, breathing with
+difficulty, walked over the untouched snow on each side of the road.
+Some one said in an angry voice:
+
+"Why didn't they clear the road? Did they want us to turn somersaults
+in the snow?"
+
+Some one else apologized guiltily.
+
+"We cleaned it, your Honor. But it is thawing and it can't be helped."
+
+Consciousness of what they were doing returned to the prisoners, but
+not completely. -in fragments, in strange parts. Now, suddenly, their
+minds practically admitted:
+
+"It is indeed impossible to clear the road."
+
+Then again everything died out, and only their sense of smell
+remained: the unbearably fresh smell of the forest and of the melting
+snow. And everything became unusually clear to the consciousness: the
+forest, the night, the road and the fact that soon they would be
+hanged. Their conversation, restrained to whispers, flashed in
+fragments.
+
+"It is almost four o'clock."
+
+"I said we started too early."
+
+"The sun dawns at five."
+
+"Of course, at five.  We should have--"
+
+They stopped in a meadow, in the darkness. A little distance away,
+beyond the bare trees, two small lanterns moved silently. There were
+the gallows.
+
+"I lost one of my rubbers," said Sergey Golovin.
+
+"Really?" asked Werner, not understanding what he said.
+
+"I lost a rubber.  It's cold."
+
+"Where's Vasily?"
+
+"I don't know.  There he is."
+
+Vasily stood, gloomy, motionless.
+
+"And where is Musya?"
+
+"Here I am.  Is that you, Werner?"
+
+They began to look about, avoiding the direction of the gallows, where
+the lanterns continued to move about silently with terrible
+suggestiveness. On the left, the bare forest seemed to be growing
+thinner, and something large and white and flat was visible. A damp
+wind issued from it.
+
+"The sea," said Sergey Golovin, inhaling the air with nose and mouth.
+"The sea is there!"
+
+Musya answered sonorously:
+
+"My love which is as broad as the sea!"
+
+"What is that, Musya?"
+
+"The banks of life cannot hold my love, which is as broad as the sea."
+
+"My love which is as broad as the sea," echoed Sergey, thoughtfully,
+carried away by the sound of her voice and by her words.
+
+"My love which is as broad as the sea," repeated Werner, and suddenly
+he spoke wonderingly, cheerfully:
+
+"Musya, how young you are!"
+
+Suddenly Tsiganok whispered warmly, out of breath, right into Werner's
+ear:
+
+"Master! master! There's the forest! My God! what's that? There-where
+the lanterns are-are those the gallows? What does it mean?"
+
+Werner looked at him. Tsiganok was writhing in agony before his death.
+
+"We must bid each other good-by," said Tanya Kovalchuk.
+
+"Wait, they have yet to read  the sentence," answered Werner. "Where
+is Yanson?"
+
+Yanson was lying on the snow, and about him people were busying
+themselves. There was a smell of ammonia in the air.
+
+"Well, what is it, doctor? Will you be through soon?" some one asked
+impatiently.
+
+"It's nothing. He has simply fainted. Rub his ears with snow! He is
+coming to himself already! You may read the sentence!"
+
+The light of the dark lantern flashed upon the paper and on the white,
+gloveless hands holding it. Both the paper and the hands quivered
+slightly, and the voice also quivered:
+
+"Gentlemen, perhaps it is not necessary to read the sentence to you.
+You know it already. What do you say?"
+
+"Don't read it," Werner answered for them all, and the little lantern
+was soon extinguished.
+
+The services of the priest were also declined by them all. Tsiganok
+said:
+
+"Stop your fooling, father-you will forgive me, but they will hang me.
+Go to- where you came from."
+
+And the dark, broad silhouette of the priest moved back silently and
+quickly and disappeared. Day was breaking: the snow turned whiter, the
+figures of the people became more distinct, and the forest-thinner,
+more melancholy.
+
+"Gentlemen, you must go in pairs. Take your places in pairs as you
+wish, but I ask you to hurry up."
+
+Werner pointed to Yanson, who was now standing, supported by two
+gendarmes.
+
+"I will go with him. And you, Seryozha, take Vasily. Go ahead."
+
+"Very well."
+
+"You and I go together, Musechka, shall we not?" asked Tanya
+Kovalchuk. "Come, let us kiss each other good-by."
+
+They kissed one another quickly. Tsiganok kissed firmly, so that they
+felt his teeth; Yanson softly, drowsily, with his mouth half open-and
+it seemed that he did not understand what he was doing.
+
+When Sergey Golovin and Kashirin had gone a few steps, Kashirin
+suddenly stopped and said loudly and distinctly:
+
+"Good-by, comrades."
+
+"Good-by, comrade," they shouted in answer.
+
+They went off. It grew quiet. The lanterns beyond the trees became
+motionless. They awaited an outcry, a voice, some kind of noise-but it
+was just as quiet there as it was among them-and the yellow lanterns
+were motionless.
+
+"Oh, my God!" some one cried hoarsely and wildly. They looked about.
+It was Tsiganok, writhing in agony at the thought of death. "They are
+hanging!"
+
+They turned away from him, and again it became quiet. Tsiganok was
+writhing, catching at the air with his hands.
+
+"How is that, gentlemen? Am I to go alone? It's livelier to die
+together. Gentlemen, what does it mean?"
+
+He seized Werner by the hand, his fingers clutching and then relaxing.
+
+"Dear master, at least you come with me? Eh? Do me the favor? Don't
+refuse."
+
+Werner answered painfully:
+
+"I can't, my dear fellow. I am going with him."
+
+"Oh, my God! Must I go alone, then? My God! How is it to be?"
+
+Musya stepped forward and said softly:
+
+"You may go with me."
+
+Tsiganok stepped back and rolled the whites of his eyes wildly.
+
+"With you!"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Just think of her! What a little girl! And you're not afraid? If you
+are, I would rather go alone!"
+
+"No, I am not afraid."
+
+Tsiganok grinned.
+
+"Just think of her! But do you know that I am a murderer? Don't you
+despise me? You had better not do it. I shan't be angry at you."
+
+Musya was silent, and in the faint light of dawn her face was pale and
+enigmatic. Then suddenly she walked over to Tsiganok quickly, and,
+throwing her arms about his neck, kissed him firmly upon his lips. He
+took her by the shoulders with his fingers, held her away from
+himself, then shook her, and, with loud smacks, kissed her on the
+lips, on the nose, on the eyes.
+
+"Come!"
+
+Suddenly the soldier standing nearest them staggered forward, and
+opening his hands, let his gun drop. He did not stoop down to regain
+it, but stood for an instant motionless, turned abruptly and, like a
+blind man, walked toward the forest over the untouched snow.
+
+"Where are you going?" called out another soldier in fright. "Halt!"
+
+But the man continued walking through the deep snow silently and with
+difficulty. Then he must have stumbled over something, for he waved
+his arms and fell face downward. And there he remained lying on the
+snow.
+
+"Pick up the gun, you sour-faced gray-coat, or I'll pick it up," said
+Tsiganok sternly to the other soldier. "You don't know your business!"
+
+The little lanterns began to move about busily again. Now it was the
+turn of Werner and Yanson.
+
+"Good-by, master!" called Tsiganok loudly. "We'll meet each other in
+the other world, you'll see! Don't turn away from me. When you see me,
+bring me some water to drink-it will be hot there for me!"
+
+"Good-by!"
+
+"I don't want to be hanged!" said Yanson drowsily.
+
+Werner took him by the hand, and then the Esthonian walked a few steps
+alone. But later they saw him stop and fall down in the snow. Soldiers
+bent over him, lifted him up and carried him on, and he struggled
+faintly in their arms. Why did he not cry? He must have forgotten even
+that he had a voice.
+
+And again the little yellow lanterns became motionless.
+
+"And I, Musechka," said Tanya Kovalchuk mournfully, "must I go alone?
+We lived together, and now--"
+
+"Tanechka, dearest--"
+
+But Tsiganok took her part heatedly.
+
+Holding her by the hand, as though fearing that some one would take
+her away from him, he said quickly, in a business-like manner, to
+Tanya:
+
+"Ah, young lady, you can go alone! You are a pure soul-you can go
+alone wherever you please! But I-I can't! A murderer! . . .
+Understand? I can't go alone! Where are you going, you murderer? they
+will ask me. Why, I even stole horses, by God! But with her it is just
+as if -just as if I were with an infant, understand? Do you understand
+me?"
+
+"I do. Go. Come, let me kiss you once more, Musechka."
+
+"Kiss! Kiss each other!" urged Tsiganok. "That's a woman's job! You
+must bid each other a hearty good-by!"
+
+Musya and Tsiganok moved forward. Musya walked cautiously, slipping,
+and by force of habit raising her skirts slightly. And the man led her
+to death firmly, holding her arm carefully and feeling the ground with
+his foot.
+
+The lights stopped moving.  It was quiet and lonely around Tanya
+Kovalchuk. The soldiers were silent, all gray in the soft, colorless
+light of daybreak.
+
+"I am alone," sighed Tanya Kovalchuk suddenly. "Seryozha is dead,
+Werner is dead-and Vasya, too. I am alone! Soldiers! soldiers! I am
+alone, alone--"
+
+The sun was rising over the sea.
+
+The bodies were placed in a box. Then they were taken away. With
+stretched necks, with bulging eyes, with blue, swollen tongues,
+looking like some unknown, terrible flowers between the lips, which
+were covered with bloody foam-the bodies were hurried back along the
+same road by which they had come-alive. And the spring snow was just
+as soft and fresh; the spring air was just as strong and fragrant. And
+on the snow lay Sergey's black rubber-shoe, wet, trampled under foot.
+
+Thus did men greet the rising sun.
+
+
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE SEVEN WHO WERE HANGED ***
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